Theatre of War
by Shiroiyuki3
Summary: He truly believed solace had eluded him, and yet there she stood. Now riddled with inner turmoil over emotions he had all but abandoned, Father Mulcahy must come to terms with his life and the decisions which have led him thus far.
1. Daybreak in Uijeongbu

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original MASH characters, circumstances, settings, or otherwise. Gene Reynolds, Larry Gelbart, and other people I'm forgetting have ownership over the series and concept. Lena and other various characters introduced by me inside the story are, however, my own creation—and as such should not be used without my permission. Please do not sue me, for this is fanfiction and intended to be fun.

* * *

I first met Lena the morning of December 5th, 1951; a memory forever burned in my heart as the moment my bleak outlook on life dissolved completely, and a bright friendship was born from the ashes of faded hope.

It was cold that morning; I remember the trees being frosted over from the previous night's inclement weather. Long icicles had formed from their frozen branches, scattering daylight about the compound as enlisted men scrambled to prepare for wounded. It was just a normal winter day in Korea, or so it seemed to me at the time. Radar had just finished an announcement informing us more casualties were on the way, and I had crucifix in hand heading out the door to the OR.

Not much I could do there besides assist blindly, administering the Last Rites when needed. Still, I liked to help when I could. Those poor boys, not even old enough to drink yet they were falling prey to a war they did not start. I felt like such a vulture sometimes; circling around the masses of blood-stained soldiers, waiting to hover above them if and when they took their last breath.

Padre, that's what the men came to refer to me as. Padre. Not John, or Francis, or even Father so much anymore—but Padre. I suppose it was fitting in the sort of way a eulogy is fitting of death; after all, I was the military-issued chaplain there to reassure the men as they needed reassuring. But Padre just sounded so foreign to my ears. I longed to discover a more...practical title the men might call me. I enjoyed being helpful and needed mind you, but still I wondered if there wasn't a greater purpose God intended me for.

Acting on behalf of the Grim Reaper wasn't why I originally chose to become a priest—I wanted to help people, to be a representative of God. All this death and destruction began to wear me down badly, a slow depression creeping into the empty corners of my mind where optimism once thrived. I truly began to believe the chance for solace had evaded me.

And yet, there she was.

Such a cold morning, she must have been freezing standing there in her freshly pressed uniform amongst the snow and ice. Securely fixed inside the doorway of Colonel Potter's quarters, she absentmindedly brushed aside white powder skirting the threshold with a foot and hugged her arms against her body for warmth.

She was fetching to say the least—black hair tightly wound up into a bun underneath her cap, loose wavy strands cascading past brow and face embracing the gentle curves of her ears. Her slender features were reminiscent of elfish lore, with pale, delicate skin peeking out beneath the dark olive of her attire, picking up the white of the snow beautifully. She had eyes that held you--reflected your very soul within deep sapphire hues, and nothing could sever the reckless enthrallment I faced now.

She looked very clean to me, which I suppose to you is an odd way to describe someone. But after spending a year or so in Korea, true cleanliness impresses. In awe I stood, drinking her all in. She was busy talking to the Colonel so she didn't see me standing there watching.

I unconsciously held onto my breath as I studied her, caught up in that single moment of pure, poetic beauty you often hear about in stories but never witness for yourself. I'll never forget how she looked that day, how her eyes sparkled with child-like fascination over an undone button on her lapel, her long slender fingers correcting the mistake when she thought no one could see. Even such small actions were far more significant to me than they should have been.

I was afraid she'd notice me standing there and the spell would be broken, so I just paused, lost in silent revere. How graceful she moved, every small gesture elegantly rounding out her charm as she looked back at Colonel Potter and balanced casually on heeled shoes. I soon felt my ears tingle and quickly looked away embarrassed, dashing towards the OR and evading the situation altogether.

I made a promise at that moment to keep my distance from her; it wasn't proper for a chaplain to behave this way. To be taken off guard like that, the shame I felt! Excommunication would be a blessing compared to the real consequences of this ignominy if I stayed any longer. And so I fled. Who ever this woman was I could avoid her until she left camp, I was sure of it. I caught a fragment of their discussion as I darted through the doors however, her clear voice resonating in my head long after I was free.

"...I guess I should unpack later then."

My face mask was tied far too tightly behind my ears, my nervous hands being to blame. She walked into the OR behind the Colonel, apron snug against her body and fresh gloves on her hands. No time to change, she came in dressed to the T. There was an air of confidence about her until the smell of blood and entrails assaulted her nose and reality came crashing back down.

I could see the physical revolt on her face as rows of bodies came into view, calm exterior twisting in agony as her hand groped for the table to steady against queasiness. She must have been fresh out of school; the shock of war too much to handle for someone so young. I remember when I first came to the 4077th I experienced the same exact thing. I don't know which is worse—the fact that I took part in this horror at all or the fact that I eventually became accustomed to seeing such terrible things on a daily basis.

Hawkeye immediately inspected her with his eyes, running his gaze all over Lena in silent assessment. The amused smile that resulted sent a shiver down my spine, and so I distracted myself with BJ's patient to hide my inner turmoil. Ordering his nurse to close up for him, Hawkeye raised his blood soaked hands into the air and waited for the next boy.

"So, who's this? Don't tell me we have a new intern." His usual songlike voice stretched out and reached for Lena as he quipped about her age. Taking his scalpel, he carved a line into the stomach of a newly laid out soldier and asked for more suction. "Watch out Frank, now we have another doctor with more experience than you."

Major Burns made a face and began to retort back, but Colonel Potter cut in.

"Kids, this is First Lieutenant Galena M. Trepp. She was just transferred here from the states, so she's not used to all this excitement yet. Seeing as this is no time for introductions, I'll keep this short and sweet. She's young, but she's a promising doctor and the daughter of one of my old war buddies, so give her some slack for today, eh?"

Colonel Potter rolled off his speech as he was fitted with new gloves. Momentarily locking eyes with Hawkeye, he moved to his table and prepared for surgery. "Houlihan, would you mind a bunkmate for a bit—just until we can straighten out the living situation?"

Margaret was busying herself with Frank's patient so it took a few seconds for the half-hearted request to sink in. Temper all at once surged and a light shade of pink decorated the skin above her mask.

"Colonel! Absolutely not, I'm a Major for goodness sakes." She clamped off the artery Frank was working on and shot an offended look towards Colonel Potter. "Have her bunk with the nurses."

Potter gave a weary sigh and picked up his scalpel, "Oh horse-hockey. Now Margaret—you know as well as I that the nurse's quarters are already full to the brim. Now, I wasn't really asking so much as telling--"

"Colonel Potter!" The indignant appeal came once again, cutting off the old man mid-sentence. Houlihan's blush had deepened and she now fervently moved around Frank's hands, desperate for the red to disappear. "Surely there are other places available," She glanced up at Lena quickly, "One that the_ doctor_ would feel more at home in." The cynical way in which 'doctor' was said caught Lena's attention immediately.

"Well, I'd offer her the bunk next to Frank, but I wouldn't willfully subject anyone to that sort of cruelty." Hawkeye glanced up towards Lena and apologetically smiled. "The war is hard enough, why suffer more by smelling his feet at night? Clamp!" Hawkeye went back to picking out the shrapnel from his patient's wound. "Nurse, clamp!"

Lena began to say something, but Margaret cut her off and once again chirped her disapproval. "Perhaps she could bunk with Radar then--they look to be about the same age."

"Now Margaret--" Colonel Potter warned, trying to be as reasonable as possible while elbow-deep in a young boy's abdomen, "I know that you are a Major and all, but--"

"Why doesn't she just stay with me?" I like a fool suggested without thinking—eliciting several surprised reactions from around the room, including my own.

I immediately regretted saying a word, as even Major Burns looked stunned at my impulsive offer. To go from hardly noticed to the center of attention so quickly, I found myself trembling from all the shocked faces staring back at me. Stumbling over abstract ideas, I frantically attempted to piece together another proposal. Anything. But when none came, the hushed silence in the OR overwhelmed me and I couldn't help but avert my eyes out of shame.

"Padre—I know you just want to be helpful, but really, she'll be fine with Houlihan." Colonel Potter finally broke the awkward pause, laughing off my foolhardy suggestion as he closed up his patient and gave a swift look to Margaret. "And I won't hear another word about it. Next!"

Outside the OR, I caught another fleeting glimpse of Lena as she carried her bags into Major Houlihan's quarters. She disappeared into the doorway behind a visibly upset Margaret, while I forced away a smile walking to the mess tent. Lunch time it was, and who was I to miss an opportunity to eat army sanctioned gruel? Maybe a little lunch was all I needed to get my mind off of things.

Hawkeye and BJ were already seated when I entered, cycling through the normal Frank Burns jokes and prodding the grayish brown goo on their trays. Food in Korea wasn't exactly edible so much as it was nauseating, so you can guess the selection wasn't great. Hawkeye said once that if the war didn't kill you, the food certainly would. I never disagreed.

"Did you see that new recruit we have? I think I just might have to perform a personal physical on her later tonight." Hawkeye quickly chewed, making curves with his hands that resembled the female form. "I mean, have you ever seen such deliciously tempting proportions before, Beej? What I would give to sample that. I might even wear my dog tags this time, make the examination official." Chuckling, he set down his fork and continued shaping the air in eager anticipation. "Magnificent."

"I dunno, she looked a little young for you Hawk," Captain Hunnicutt pretended to reason, causing his once elated friend to stab a green blob on his tray out of protest. "This one might just be better appreciated from afar."

Disappointedly setting down his hands, Hawkeye faced his challenger with strong conviction. "BJ, BJ, BJ...you don't understand. I've been waiting all of my life for someone like her to cross my path. And now that she has, I have no choice but persuade her to be mine. Well, for tonight at least." Hawkeye ended his speech with an unconcerned laugh and sat back, pleased with himself and his power over women.

"And to think, of all the MASH units in Korea, she had to walk into yours." Hunnicutt teased as Hawkeye waved his arm unimpressed in his direction.

"Eh, you'll see, Mr. Skeptic." He continued, describing Lena in risqué detail as I walked silently towards an empty table. My head was pounding, picking up traces of the mischievous conversation as I quickened my pace. I thought it was best I leave.

I was almost in the blue when BJ called out to me. "Why don't you sit down over here Padre, there's enough room—if Hawkeye can deflate some of that ego of his first."

Hawkeye waved me over. "Yes Father, come over, stay awhile. Don't mind him though—he woke up on the wrong side of Korea this morning and hasn't been civil since."

"No I--I should be going. Maybe I'll eat lunch in my quarters today. I still have to write up tomorrow's sermon after all." Smiling to dissimulate my urgency, I turned swiftly towards the exit and came to an abrupt halt where I stood in the aisle.

The door to the mess tent opened and in she walked. Still in uniform with hair tied up tightly, Lena paused in the threshold taking in her surroundings. Smiling, she exchanged quick glances with some of the enlisted men and walked over to the table of food, grabbing a tray and proceeding to examine the choices carefully. She didn't even seem to notice me standing there, but to be fair I wasn't exactly as prominent as I could have been. Dazed, I sat down next to BJ and instinctively broke my gaze on her. My ears were burning again, the familiar sting back full force.

"Welcome to the 4077th. Watch what you eat here," Hawkeye stood up and playfully strolled towards her, pointing to the unidentifiable mush she was about to take, "this stuff will turn you into a statistic over night if you aren't careful."

Beaming, he held out his hand to her. "Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce—Hawkeye for short. But certain nurses around these parts just call me 'Handsome'." Winking, he enclosed her hand and watched her face brighten into a smile.

"Galena Marie Trepp, nice to meet you Hawkeye. Like the Last of the Mohicans, right?" Her smile never faded.

"That's right! Wow, most people don't get that reference." Astonished, he helped fill her tray with food and sashayed her towards the table. "This is BJ Hunnicutt, also a Captain, but don't hold that against him." Hawkeye sat down and waited for Lena as she shook BJ's hand politely and exchanged pleasantries. "Oh—and this is Father Mulcahy. He's our resident Holy Man."

Turning her warm gaze onto me, she held out her hand and paused. "Nice to meet you Father."

Hesitating, I slowly took her hand into mine and returned the gesture. I was still a bit nervous to have her so close to me after my inappropriate reaction earlier, so I was careful not to sustain eye contact for too long. I knew I should be polite, but I would only allow that to go so far.

"Yes," I began timorously, "it's good to have you here, Galena. You seem to have a lot of...promise, to borrow a term from Colonel Potter. We could use another surgeon at the 4077th."

I immediately noticed a shiny silver object dangling from her neck on a delicate chain as she leaned into our handshake. It was a small, simply fashioned cross that contrasted brilliantly next to the dark olive of her uniform. How quickly I forgot myself! Brimming with excitement, I was about to inquire about it when she spoke first, sheepishly wrinkling up her nose and shaking her head.

"Call me Lena, please. Galena just sounds so...pretentious. I don't know why I introduced myself that way, my fault." Letting out a small giggle, she sat down next to Hawkeye and tucked a small strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Colonel Potter tells me that you volunteer at the local orphanage, Father." She took a small bite of food and chewed slowly. "Do you happen to need another pair of hands over there? I'd love to help out if I could."

Pleasantly surprised, I smiled and nodded briefly. Maybe her presence here wouldn't be so bad after all. "Well thank you, Lena. We could always use more help with the children."

Looking away from me and back onto her food, she took another measured bite and swallowed. "Back home I ran the Sunday school activities at Saint Joachim's. It would be wonderful if I could help out with something like that again. It would give me something to look forward to at least." A bittersweet smile formed on her face as she took another bite.

I could tell there was something bothering her, but I didn't know whether to press the subject or not.

"You know," Lena suddenly looked up at me, captivating me with her eyes, "Colonel Potter told me you also hail from Philadelphia. I'm from Frankford myself." Smiling warmly she continued eating, looking back at her meal and scooping up a forkful of gray mush.

I was so excited to ask about home that I nearly knocked over my coffee onto BJ's tray. Recomposing myself and apologizing quickly, my moment was once again interrupted when an announcement boomed over the PA system.

"ATTENTION ALL PERSONEL! MORE WOUNDED ON THE WAY, GET TO PRE OP ON THE DOUBLE."

"Here we go again, boys and girls." Hawkeye quickly stood up from his seat, leaving his tray behind and finishing his coffee in one large gulp. Stretching out his arm in comical grandiloquence towards Lena, he lingered in pose and beamed. "Lady Iris," Hawkeye beckoned lightheartedly, still reaching out to her, "Your carriage awaits."

"Always with the dramatics." BJ stood as well, looking at his partner in crime and chuckling. "Don't scare the poor girl too much on her first day." He smiled warmly towards Lena, trying to calm the panic rising in her expression. "Don't worry, you'll get used to his sense of humor soon enough. We all had to."

Slowly rising from her seat, a hint of terror in her eyes, Lena paused for a moment and nervously spoke. "You sure get a lot of wounded around here, don't you?"

Remembering her reaction earlier in the OR, I thought to console her but Hawkeye was too quick for me.

"Oh, right now this might seem like a lot to you, but don't worry. Later on—it'll seem like a whole lot more. After all, this is the Theatre of War, folks."

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So, that was Chapter one, I hope you liked it . I love MASH and especially enjoy Father Mulcahy's character. He's one of the underdeveloped, underappreciated characters in the series that I really wish would have had more play. Hopefully I can flesh him out a bit in this story!


	2. Significance of Merit

Daytime finally drew to a close as we gathered together at the Officer's Club, escaping the horrors of war to unravel over gin and beer. And what a long day it was, too; wounded boys pouring in one after another, bellies full of shrapnel and bullets, blood-stained uniforms tattered and torn about their broken bodies. I was glad it was over, if only for the night. Even though, truth be told, my part in the battle was insignificant compared to the others, I was always glad to lend a hand.

I seated myself beside the worn piano and adjusted my hat, waiting for a request that never came. Settling on a favorite ragtime tune of mine, I picked up the pace as confidence returned and doubt dissolved into a smile. I hadn't seen Lena since lunch so I was quite relaxed by this time, forgoing alcohol for good-natured merriment. Hawkeye, noticing my insecurity earlier, promised the judgment-clouding magic of Scotch would have the same result, but I didn't take him up on his offer. I was no stranger to alcohol mind you, but the sound of laughter locked in mutual accord with awkward ragtime was enough for me tonight. Now was the time to unwind.

Majors Burns and Houlihan were busy ignoring us at their table, while Nurse Kelley glided Radar around the makeshift dance floor in large, curious steps. I think they were almost waltzing but I couldn't be sure.

"You are getting better at that, Radar." Hawkeye praised from his spot at the bar. He had himself some whiskey and was slumped down on one side where elbow met table. Looking pretty relaxed, he slowly inhaled and grinned at the man sitting next to him. "Beej, what do you say we have one more and call it a night? I have a date tomorrow with Nurse Reynolds and I need my beauty sleep."

"Haha, Nurse Reynolds? I thought you had your eye on that young Lieutenant who just shipped in."

Hawkeye slowly sipped his drink. "Well I did, but I haven't seen her since after that last batch of wounded. She left the OR pretty quickly. I would have loved to give her a run, though. She looked like someone best appreciated on a cramped army cot."

Hearing mention of Lena, I stumbled on the keys and stopped playing. My heart had jumped for a moment, quick to forget itself. Recovering swiftly as not to alert anyone, I kept my pace slow and steady, eavesdropping in on the conversation to catch what I could. Lena. When opportunity snuck up and tapped me on the shoulder like this, curiosity always got the best of me. A quality I wasn't proud of might I add.

"I saw her getting sick behind Post OP earlier. She hasn't even unpacked her bags yet, they are just sitting in my quarters, taking up space. I can't believe Colonel Potter, making me share my bunk with a Lieutenant." Houlihan looked over for a second to chime in her disapproval. When caught staring she and Frank hastily returned to ignoring us.

"Well, she's young. She just needs time to adjust and get used to things around here. We all had to, she'll come around eventually." BJ was pretty level headed for the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He stretched back and yawned. "Didn't seem like a bad surgeon to me, just a little young."

"Too young." Major Houlihan hastened to add. Shaking her head, she set down the bottle she was working on and folded her arms. "She can't be more than twenty six. Where did she serve her residency, Coney Island?"

I desperately wanted to say something, to inquire more about Lena's whereabouts. But I didn't. I had already made a fool out of myself earlier in the OR, why repeat that mistake at the Officer's Club? Allowing my fingers to tremble and cease movement, I felt a familiar shame creep back into my mind. I had to somehow overcome this if Lena was to help me at the orphanage. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice my silence.

"Of course, Margaret; that's where all great doctors hail from nowadays. I, myself, took my Hippocratic Oath in the bathroom of a Dairy Queen. And right after that, I performed a tonsillectomy on a young flight attendant with my tongue." Hawkeye smiled at the memory and slowly spun his glass between his fingers. "My first patient might I add."

BJ laughed as if he had heard the story before. My face felt hot though. "Oh...perhaps I'd better be going."

"Nonsense, Father. Stay, enjoy your break. We'll keep the conversation clean for you; we are only staying for another drink or two anyways. Right, Beej?"

Shaking his head slowly, BJ stood up and gathered his friend. "I think we should just turn in now. Come on, back to the Swamp old buddy." He held onto Hawkeye to keep from falling over. "You should be fresh for Nurse Reynolds tomorrow, anyways."

"One more drink never killed anyone. Except for those who die of alcohol poisoning." Hawkeye pivoted around to face the bar, eyes filled with anticipation. "Come on, I'll cover it. My treat."

"I'd say you are drunk enough. Breath sure does smell like it anyways."

Hawkeye's face melted into a smile as he was guided from his stool. "Don't tell me this is where you take advantage. Come on Beej, why stand between me and maxing out my tab? I happen to be on a one-man mission to sober up Korea."

"Oh, would you two stop messing around already. Can't you ever act like army men?" Frank's disgust rang out and stopped the two men in their tracks. "Acting like a bunch of wishy-washy lowlifes. Disgraceful. Why, if General MacArthur were here—he'd tie you up by your boot strings."

"And he'd tie you up by your G-string, Frank." Hawkeye laughed a bit too loud at his joke, causing Major Burn's face to deepen a few shades of red.

Giving a disapproving look, Major Houlihan stood and shook her head angrily. "Always joking, don't you do anything else around here besides ridicule others?"

"Come on, Margaret, we were only trying to work off some steam. Give Hawk a break, he meant no harm." BJ held up his friend, arm over shoulder.

"Yeah, everyone knows Frank sticks exclusively to jockstraps."

Major Houlihan's face twisted into anger. "He should respect a commanding officer regardless. This camp's conduct is laughable."

I turned around and expressed my concern, which in the heat of the moment, went greatly ignored. "Oh my, what seems to be the trouble here? Anything I can do to help? Perhaps a light hymn might calm the situation a bit--"

"It's alright Padre, we were just leaving. Come on Hawk."

"No," Repelling Hunnicutt's assistance with a hand, Hawkeye staggered the rest of the way to the door and paused. "Margaret, I've spent the last fourteen hours digging out shrapnel from boys not even old enough to shave yet. Joking is the only way I can speak without screaming. Talk about conduct, how are some of those young soldiers going to salute their commanding officers without arms? How are they going to accept their Purple Heart if they have no chest to pin the medal to? Do you think conduct is the most important things on their minds right now?" Rubbing the back of his head unenthusiastically, he gestured toward the door. "I've been up way too long. Come on, Beej, Ol' Ferret Face and Hot Lips just made the war unbearable for me. Let's go home and continue this at our private still."

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When I finally left the Officer's Club, I couldn't help but notice the stars peeking down at me from their dark mantle above. It had been forever since I actually stopped to appreciate them, as I often associated thoughts best left behind me with their faint glow. So beautiful; I almost forgot how much they reminded me of home. I traced constellations vaguely committed to memory as my mind drifted back to a time years ago, to a memory repressed out of fear of being discovered by my peers.

It was cold back then too, but the stars instead mocked me from where they hung low in the night sky. Walking alone beneath rows of blackened windows, their expressionless faces screaming silently down at me, I slowly stumbled back to my home in darkness. My first and only love, Linda, had just broken my heart--throwing away our engagement to be with another man whom she hardly knew at all. I was scared, numb beyond all recognition of my former jovial self as I approached the steps of 1301 Millbourne Street, my head pounding with thoughts so heinous I could hardly believe they were my own.

Fumbling around trying to locate the correct key, I stood there clinging onto my last bit of strength before breaking down, surrendering to agony in waves of frustrating tears. Even weeping didn't help ease the pain. Pressing my stinging forehead against the cold wood door, I cried out to God for an answer I knew would not come. I couldn't understand why this had happened; why only yesterday we were happy in love, yet now everything I knew to be truth was lie. How could I have been so blind?

Nineteen years old and I felt my life was over. At last I let myself in, careful not to disturb my parents who would be asleep in the next room. Finding my way down the hall, I collapsed onto the soft quilt covering my bed and buried my face into a pillow. I screamed, releasing an unfamiliar rage, cursing Linda's name into the night. My sister Katherine had overheard me and knocked on the door, asking through the wall if I was alright. She meant well but couldn't help me now. Swallowing my pride and wiping hot tears from my face, I quelled her worry and set aside my pillow. Listening for her to walk away, I sat there determined not to make another sound until she had gone.

When opportunity at last came, I instinctively dug through the drawers of my nightstand, pulling them out and spilling their contents to the floor without second thought. My vision had blurred, desperate to locate the one object that would alleviate my sorrow; my old trusty Tom Mix pocket knife. A present from Linda ironically, I now longed to hear the swish of its blade against my skin.

I clawed my way through the last drawer, throwing out papers and odd items in my wake. It had to be in this one, I just knew it. My pulse hastened as I stretched to reach the back of the only compartment not removable like the others. It had to be there. After what seemed an eternity, my fingers brushed against something oddly familiar and I hesitated, frightened by what I held.

Next to my knife I had instead grabbed a small silver cross mother had given me years ago, the cold metal comforting my nervous hand. I had forgotten about it completely. Sitting back to study this tiny object resting against my palm, I slowly outlined its shape with a finger. How odd. A strange calm washed over me while I stared at my reflection on its surface, the stars outside my window bouncing light off the smooth finish and onto my face.

Could this be the answer I searched for; could God, hearing my prayers, be offering me a new path to take? I had the suspicion I shouldn't take this at face value. Although it would require a lot of time and commitment, and several sacrifices along the way, I felt this was my calling. I just felt it. I had nothing to lose after all; Linda was gone and I had almost made the biggest mistake of my life because of it. If God had a purpose for me despite my intention, I knew I had to try and fulfill it. I guess it's presumptuous to say I was saved that night, but still I wonder: What would have happened if I'd grabbed the knife instead?

It wasn't until later on after I entered seminary that I met Father Marty "Boom Boom" Gallagher, the famous World War II chaplain who delivered his sermons so close to the front that they were drowned out by the tyranny of war. As the priest overseeing my preparations, he was a great inspiration to me during obscure days of fear and doubt. It wasn't until we really got to know one another that my transition into priesthood became somewhat justifiable in my mind.

While I always wanted to help others just as God had helped me, I couldn't avoid questioning my potential as a priest. To live a lie claiming unconditional celibacy after being engaged made me feel rotten inside. Had Linda not left me, I'd be married and probably a father by now. To falsify my calling, saying I was inspired by Katherine's decision to become a nun instead of the actual reason, my heart felt overwhelmed by guilt. I never told anyone about Linda, or about the suicide I almost committed that night in my room. I instead focused on the positive. I would be able to help people in this position--which was important to me. But I certainly didn't feel proper during my Ordination, as I lay prostrate with the other young men awaiting consecration into priesthood. I was shaking underneath my robes to be honest.

Such a thing was of course forever binding, lest I suffer unspeakable consequences. To go against a sacrament I shuddered to think what would become of me. To build a life based on lie, I knew I'd be spending a few weeks in Purgatory. No amount of repent could erase my sins. But this was the path I took and despite the trouble I faced earlier, I was fairly content in my choices. I got to help people once and a while after all, and to me, that trumped my rights as a man any day.

Colonel Potter's brightly illuminated tent snapped me out of my abstraction as I got closer, the candlelight from his lamp flickering dangerously as a figure moved around inside. How odd that he would be up at this hour. I stood outside my tent and waited, watching a silhouette cross the length of his quarters and stop near the door. Their muffled voices piqued my interest, even though I couldn't make out the words being said. Pausing just in time to catch Lena quickly exiting the Colonel's tent, I stood in the darkness and watched her walk away. She looked quite upset about something but I didn't pursue it. I couldn't pursue it, not at this hour. Quickly closing the door and walking over to my bed, a feeling of guilt forced me to reconsider and turn around.

Lena wasn't at Houlihan's tent when I searched for her. I thought perhaps she had gone to the latrine, though certainly I couldn't bother her in there. I shouldn't have been bothering her at all at this hour might I add, especially without proper chaperon. Giving up the pursuance of my duties with a sigh I hiked back to my quarters, seizing the drab olive flannelette shirt covering my black turtleneck as the wind picked up. Quite nippy out tonight, I should have worn something heavier. The thought of a nice warm bed enticed these tired bones as I neared my quarters, my legs sluggish and drained. Sleep would be a blessing right now.

I found my door in the darkness just as large white flakes began to flutter down around me. Snowing again. Although it was beautiful, I was much too tired to acknowledge it right now. Sleep first; tomorrow I could enjoy its white blanket upon my doorway. Rubbing half-closed eyes underneath my glasses, I yawned for a minute then reached for the door handle.

"Father?" A nervous voice startled me from behind. I knew who it was before I turned and my heart jumped in anticipation.

I remained as formal as possible, for sleep beckoned and I was steadily losing the battle. "Lieutenant Trepp, what I surprise to see you up at this hour. I thought Margaret would have set a bedtime for you by now." My joke was poorly executed and I could see the disappointment in her eyes. I meant to clear up the misunderstanding but Lena couldn't wait.

"Father, I was wondering," She dropped her sad gaze from me and brushed some hair behind her ear, "I know that it is late and most unusual but...I was wondering if I could talk to you about something. I tried to talk to Colonel Potter, but he couldn't help me. He meant well, but--"

She looked so alone standing there. Something was bothering her greatly and my need to help cast away all other thoughts at that moment. Sacrificing sleep, I escorted her into my quarters where we could sit and talk away from the cold.

She sat silently at my desk, never looking up at me once. Twiddling her fingers nervously, Lena's face twisted from confusion to terror, until finally I sat down on my bed and called out her name. The fright in her eyes overwhelmed me when she snapped from her trance.

"...Will you keep this to yourself, Father?"

"Oh, yes of course. As confessor, I'm always very confidential. Your secret is safe with me." I gave a tired smile which seemed to put her at ease.

Eventually she relaxed enough in my company to recite the proper beginning of confession even though we were without confessional. When ready, she began with reluctance. "Do you ever...wish you could do something differently? Go back and fix an error in judgment on your behalf, before it was too late?"

I didn't know where this was heading so I tried my best not to influence the subject. "Why, yes, we all have regrets that we'd like to remedy."

"I don't think I belong here, Father. I've only been here a day and yet I feel like a horrible weight has been placed on my shoulders. Earlier in the OR I couldn't stomach all the blood I saw around me --" She cut off to look down at her shaking hands, "I couldn't wash the blood off, as much as I tried. I couldn't wash it off."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Lena's voice began to crack and break. In a swift motion of black and olive drab I was at her side, kneeling down to comfort despite my reservations. She had covered her face with her palms so she couldn't see my concern as I gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Lena, I know how hard this is for you. I went through the same thing. It is scary right now, but think of all the people you are helping by being here. It's important to...focus on how you are making their lives better, instead of the horror around you. You saved many lives today; it's because of your efforts that those men will live to see another day."

"...another day of war." Her eyes, once filled with hope, now hung unfocused and sad, looking at some distant unknown place in time. Poor thing, I didn't know what to say. "I want to go home. I just...want to go home so badly, Father."

Home, of course! That was the answer. Regaining my confidence I plotted a new course to take, one I hoped would get through to her. "Lena," My hand couldn't help but stroke her back, "tell me about home. I meant to ask earlier, but I didn't get an opportunity." I smiled even though she wasn't looking.

"Home," she repeated slowly. "We'd be preparing for Christmas right now, decorating a tree...buying each other presents." She hesitantly focused her eyes on me. "Father would be putting the lights up while I baked cookies." The hint of a smile lingered on her face, making mine double in size.

That was it, come on child. "What else? Would you be singing hymns and holiday carols, too?"

She nodded, the color returning to her cheeks. "I'd be at the piano, and Andrew—my brother, he'd be playing his recorder. He loves the recorder." She smiled at something I couldn't see, probably a fond memory. She looked so happy now. A part of what she said stuck in my mind and I couldn't help but inquire about it.

"You play the piano? What sort of things do you know how to play?"

Her eyes lit up at this question, energy returning to them as they danced over mine. "Mostly classical pieces, my father thought a lady should learn. He is very conservative when it comes to certain things."

She smiled warmly now, focusing on me as I knelt by her side. I suddenly became very aware of what time it was, and the fact my hand still rubbed her shoulder. Blushing a bit I stood, careful not to alarm her. "You should get some rest now, Lena. Sleep will do you some good. Tomorrow we can visit the orphanage if you'd like, I'm sure the children would be happy to meet you."

Agreeing with a nod, Lena rose from her seat and smiled up at me. "Thank you, Father. I'd like that very much. I'm glad I got to talk to you, even though it's so late."

Walking her to the door, we exchanged goodbyes and with a wistful smile I watched Lena disappear into the night. Perhaps her coming here turned out to be a good thing after all.


	3. Perfumed Distractions

With half shuttered eyes, I examined the ceiling above me. I could feel myself waking finally, dream giving way to reality. Gradually I remembered the OR, the wounded, Hawkeye and BJ working diligently to save lives. I remembered Lena and her silver cross. I was still Korea's prisoner, despite what my dreams entertained. Morning's familiar staleness throbbed at my senses as I slowly acknowledged the new task before me:

I had to get up.

I felt a bit groggy as I forfeited my covers, meeting winter's chill with a start, but a good run around the compound would help clear my mind. Sunday's sermon was but hours away after all and I had to prepare. Preaching to this MASH unit made me feel needed, helpful. Not just another faceless chaplain but a friend to those poor souls who needed guidance. I didn't get much of a turnout, granted, but when the men felt like attending they did. Even if it wasn't often.

Layering against the winter morning I dressed in a turtleneck and khakis, throwing on my thick Loyola hoodie over top. It was quite cold out, my tent taking on all the charm of a freezer's insides. I almost wished I would have packed a scarf, but it was a bit too late for that now.

Stretching for a moment, giving my muscles a chance to wake up too, I did some warm ups and rubbed at the pain aching my back. I felt pretty stiff; must be getting old at thirty four. An army cot isn't quite as cozy as one would think, you know. But I wasn't one to complain. When so many others had it worse off, how could anyone complain about a cramped bunk? It seemed rather inappropriate.

"Hey Father Mulcahy, sir."

Corporal Radar O'Reilly waved faintly from behind Colonel Potter's tent, poking around a little cage. He looked pretty distraught, his frown deepening as he shook a piece of celery between the wire bars. He was normally such a happy boy, I worried something was wrong. I walked over still feeling a bit stiff.

"Well, good morning Radar. What are you doing up so early?" Part of me hoped he was planning on coming to service, but I knew it was a wish made in vain. I adjusted my glasses and watched as his shoulders dropped sadly. "Is everything alright, my son? You seem...troubled."

He sighed and set the cage back down. "It's my rabbit, Fluffy, sir. She hasn't eaten in two whole days. I'm worried about her." Radar's brow furrowed, lost in thought. I wondered if perhaps there was more bothering him and so I simply nodded, not wishing to scare him off. "Hope she's okay. Maybe the cold is getting to her?"

"Oh, well, I'm sure she'll be just fine, Radar." He didn't look relieved at my halfhearted attempt, so I added carefully, "But, just to be on the safe side perhaps you could let her stay with you until it gets warmer? Although I'm certainly no expert, Fluffy could probably use some time away from winter.

"I'm sure she'd be happy to share your quarters with you." When the man smiled, so did I. I felt happy to help. "And I'm sure Colonel Potter wouldn't mind, under the circumstances that is."

Radar continued to give a squinty little smile, opening the cage door to pet the large white rabbit within. "Thanks, Father."

He paused and then cleared his throat, and I waited patiently for the real problem to be discussed. It didn't pay to prod I knew; a chaplain had to let the confession come naturally.

"Er...Father Mulcahy, sir? Do you think...do you think you could maybe give Fluffy a little blessing before you go?"

"Oh, well..." That certainly wasn't expected.

Radar must have noticed my fluster because he hastened to elaborate.

"Nothing special, of course, just maybe...something to help get her feeling better? A little prayer, or...something. I know Fluffy would appreciate it a lot. So would I."

I smiled politely and nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. Here I thought Radar needed guidance or someone to talk to, but I guess not. Perhaps I was getting old.

I'd never blessed a bunny before, but I gave Fluffy my best attempt, praying she recover as soon as possible. I even pet her quickly on the head to show my sincerity. Radar thanked me again and trotted off, cage in tow. At least he looked happy, that much I was glad for.

Fondly I remembered why being a priest was important to me.

Despite the chill, morning turned out very pleasant I decided, slowly jogging from tent to tent sloshing through wet snow. The air reminded me of home, fresh and brisk and stinging to the nostrils. I almost forgot how sore I was as I neared my quarters, enjoying the last stretch of my run. Just in time to get ready for nine o'clock service.

As I suspected, the mess tent was completely empty save for Klinger, dressed in a black evening gown and white kidskin gloves. Corporal Klinger was the only one to attend my services regularly, despite being atheist. He and I sometimes chatted afterwards about his faith, or lack there of, but he assured me there would be no changing his mind. A God who'd allow war was no God he'd support. Klinger proclaimed however that if I turned out to be right about 'all my God stuff', he'd get into Heaven anyway due to our friendship.

I liked Klinger, flowery numbers and all.

It was almost nine so I gathered my notes and stepped behind the podium to begin. "Good morning, everyone."

I swallowed my disappointment as 'everyone' in the form of Klinger exchanged puzzled looks with me. "Well, good morning to _you_ at least, Klinger. I guess I should omit the 'please be seated' part, seeing as you have already found a seat for yourself."

I flipped to the next card when a voice interrupted me. I need not look up to know who it was.

"Oh, forgive me Father."

Lena quickly opened the door and entered, looking quite embarrassed. Taking a hymnal book, she smiled guiltily. "I'm a bit late. I'm afraid I'm still working on Philadelphia time."

For a moment I couldn't speak, watching her sit next to Klinger. As fetching as she was standing outside Colonel Potter's quarters, Lena looked absolutely lovely now, proper in a modest white dress and gloves. Corporal Klinger was apparently impressed too, asking by way of whisper where she shopped.

"Oh, n-not at all, child. I'm glad you could make it."

I adjusted my glasses and turned to a dog-eared page, throwing furtive glances at her as I began the service. My note cards had disappeared somewhere on the podium and I felt as awkward as a teenager, shuffling through paper to find the one I needed. Not that this surprised me, I could hardly prevent myself from stammering during service, let alone stop shaking. Public speaking was not my forte.

I prayed I wouldn't disappoint this morning of all mornings. For some reason I just couldn't.

I couldn't help but smile as I read from the Gospel of Matthew, knowing my flock had just gained a new member. And one who wasn't an atheist at that! Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lena wore her cross proudly. I quickly concentrated elsewhere, suddenly conscious of my inappropriate behavior.

"– what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"

"ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL: TONIGHT'S MOVIE, DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES BEYOND OUR CONTROL, WILL NOT BE SHOWN. THAT IS ALL."

A collective groan outside the mess tent was heard, forcing me to prolong my pause. When at last silence fell, I noted with a jolt of relief my party had not wearied of me. Actually, both Klinger and Lena waited with rapt attention. Something close to pride surged, and I found myself grinning like a schoolboy at the two of them.

But no sooner had I been excited, that familiar tingle in my ears started to burn and I looked away, rapidly hoping that this was all a dream. I had never woken up this morning, I was still in bed. Corporal O'Reilly and Fluffy were still outside, battling over a piece of unwashed celery. Klinger would be my only attendee, as always; Lena still asleep in Margaret's tent.

But I wasn't so lucky.

"Ah – forgive the interruption, everyone. Let us start over." My voice cracked with nervousness, and I longed for a glass of water. What was it about that girl that bothered me? Fumbling over another note card, I readjusted my glasses and started once more.

This would not do at all.

----------------------------

Around lunchtime more wounded came in on evacuation busses, calling people away from the gruel on their trays. Doctors and nurses attended to triage while I put on my apron and face mask, bible in hand to help where needed.

I counted myself lucky to have an excuse to avoid Lena. She was a nice girl, a very nice girl in fact, but it simply wasn't proper for me to spend too much time around her. Especially when I felt my face flush and my ears tingle every time our eyes met.

She turned out to be a decent surgeon, as Colonel Potter had said. But she was still foreign to life in the war. Poor thing, she looked ill throughout most of the day. Lena also was a bit slow to finish, taking six patients to everyone else's fifteen. But we understood. Not long ago we had been new ourselves. I think we were all just glad to have another doctor to help out.

Despite how I resisted, my eyes seemed to drift to Lena's table every so often, remembering how nice she smelled the night before. That scent had seemed unimportant to me then, as tired as I was, but now its sweet memory haunted me. It was the same perfume she had worn to service, I noticed. I couldn't get its light melody out of my head, and I tried very hard to determine what the mixture was hoping that would break its spell.

Passing by another table, I bumped into Radar.

"Oh, sorry Father. Colonel, sir – ICOR is on the phone. Our order of penicillin has been canceled again. I told 'em how important it was but no such luck. Can you believe it?"

A few staff members groaned their frustration at the news. We were in desperate need of penicillin, and with the sudden rush of injured, many young boys wouldn't live to see Christmas if we didn't receive more soon.

Colonel Potter wasted no time in voicing his verdict. "Get back on that phone to ICOR. Offer them anything, you have my permission to tear the 4077th apart if that's what it takes – we need that penicillin, Radar."

"Yes, sir. Colonel Potter, sir." Radar mumbled obediently, ducking through the door and swiftly returning.

"And Radar," Potter began without looking at the man, "if you have to get my signature –"

"– make sure to forge it. Yes sir, don't worry sir."

When things finally slowed down I felt out of place. I found myself unconsciously working my way closer to Lena, although she paid me no attention. I noticed with worry her face had paled and her hands shook, suture needle and all.

Hawkeye seemed to notice as well, pausing under the bright light of his lamp. "Okay over there, Lena?" He sliced into his last boy, ordering the nurse for more suction. "I haven't seen anyone look that ill since Frank went sleepwalking naked into the women's shower."

"Oh, ha ha." Burns turned a squinty eye at the man. "Very funny, Pierce. I'll have you know I wasn't even naked."

"Socks don't count, Frank."

"Oh, go jump in the lake!" Major Burns stopped working on his patient to give a little huff.

Houlihan urged him back to work, giving a warning glance toward Colonel Potter. The two of them seemed to be having a lover's quarrel, Margaret roughly going through the motions instead of showing affection as she normally would.

"Honestly, Margaret. That willy-nilly ought to learn some manners. I'm a Major," His childish whine broke over the clang of metal trays and Margaret tensed up. "If General MacArthur were here, oh – he'd set him square."

Major Houlihan handed him a scalpel forcefully. "Oh Frank, just get back to work."

BJ smiled good naturedly at Major Burns, who shot daggers between the two of them. "Come on, Frank; I hear at least one nurse didn't cry. That ought to mean something."

Frank gave a snide little shake of the head and caught the attention of Margaret, who apparently was said nurse. I noticed from my perch near Colonel Potter's table she did not look pleased to be mentioned on Frank's behalf.

"You're absolutely right, Beej." Hawkeye looked up between cuts and let his eyes smile, like they were hiding a private joke. "She was too busy laughing."

I gripped my bible tightly, watching as Frank flung a package of bandages at Hawkeye who then proceeded to return fire. "Oh my –" I crossed myself and looked skyward, ducking just in time to avoid a roll of surgical tape.

"That's enough, the two of you!" Colonel Potter bellowed, ordering for an immediate end to their private war.

Waiting for the nurse to clamp his patient, the man lifted his bloodied hands in the air. "This is an OR. When you're in here you are doctors, _so_ _act like doctors!_ Quit squabbling like a bunch of irate chickens and remember why you're here. If you can't play nice, I'll fix it so you can't hold soup. _Comprende?!_

"Galena," Potter's voice still sounded annoyed, "this will probably be our last stretch for a bit; go get yourself some fresh air. BJ is about finished, he can close up for you." He nodded gruffly towards the Captain, who smiled his consent.

Lena's blank face turned toward the old man and she silently obeyed.

"With the pair of you nincompoops running around here unsupervised, I seriously wonder what's worse – this war or the fact our side would sanction doctors with your level of maturity." Potter shook his head and settled back into his patient, peering though glasses as fresh blood spilled. "Hogwash."

I'd like to say I let Lena walk out of the OR without a second thought, left to wander the snow covered compound alone. I'd like to say I ignored the tightening in my chest as she pushed through the door. I'd like to say a lot of things actually.

But catching that same blind fear in her eyes as the night before, I knew the girl would need someone to talk to. To cry with. And I found myself following close behind, still gripping my bible protectively.

What was a chaplain to do?

The afternoon had just about pulled to a close when I remembered my promise to Lena, to let her visit the orphanage with me. At the time it had been an attempt at getting her mind off matters, and it seemed to do the trick. So after I found the woman slumped down in the deserted mess tent weeping, I figured now was the best time to act on that promise.

After talking with Colonel Potter and getting permission, the two of us drove away from the compound and onto a little slushy road. A trip made in silence. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed neither of us spoke as the ride seemed to take longer than usual. It's funny, really. This whole time I had been trying to avoid Lena, when I finally achieved my goal – I felt let down.

A few times I thought I heard muffled sobs coming from my right, but I would never know. Lena had turned away, crumpled into a ball, staring at the snow covered trees lining our path. Poor thing, I wished so badly to help her. I prayed that this trip would do some good.

When we finally made it to the orphanage, the familiar parade of children and nuns greeted us at our jeep. I had missed all of them! All their happy faces seemed to do wonders for Lena, who stopped crying at once. Her eyes were a bit puffy but otherwise that same beauty that had plagued me yesterday shined through with each new smile she gave.

Just as I had expected, the children took to Lena instantly, and she took to them.

There was one little girl in particular that stuck to her like glue. Gracie Kim we had named her, since the child's true name had been lost. It was a sad truth of war, the many lives destroyed. But Gracie's smile proved hope was still alive. And how she loved Lena! During one game, Gracie had spent the better part of ten minutes curled up in the Lieutenant's arms, happily giggling from her perch.

As the day progressed, we found ourselves gathered inside from the cold air, sprawled out along the cold wood floor. The children played next to me, their mirthful elation making me smile as I spoke with one of the nuns.

Lena was a great girl I decided, watching her pretend to be a horse for the game they had made up. Her laughter matched the children's, and I was relieved to see her eyes dance with that same fascination as before. And I remembered the first time I had seen her. How odd that an undone button could hold such interest for her. For me.

With a happy little jolt Lena fell under the weight of three young girls, who she proceeded to tickle as soon as her arm was freed. Gracie got the brunt of her attack, squealing happily beneath Lena's hands.

All thoughts of war seemed forgotten for this one beautiful moment, and for the first time in a long time, I felt glad to be in Korea.

Eventually the excitement wore down and the children went off to enjoy dinner. Gracie had to practically be pried from Lena, Sister Teresa ushering the girl from the room. Finally able to break free, Lena and I strolled outside, careful to avoid a mine field a few yards away.

The sun hung low in the western sky, painted gold against purple. Thin pink clouds collected overhead, their bellies glowing brightly with the yellow light. Even the snow turned pastel in this haze, a million twinkling diamonds reflecting the sunset. It was turning out to be quite an evening.

Lena looked lovely too; lips and cheeks flushed red with winter's chill. Her eyes seemed to dance in the light as she smiled, kicking some snow absently as we walked along our path.

"I want to thank you, Father."

Her voice snapped me back to reality and I quickly looked away. Had she seen me staring?

"Oh?"

She sounded a bit melancholy, pausing by a tree. "For bringing me here. I'm glad to have gotten away from things."

Beyond her the sun broke the horizon, sky ablaze for one last show. Lena's hair looked like warm chocolate in the amber light, loose bangs flowing gently about her brow. "If only for a moment. I've had a lot of fun today, thank you."

I found myself staring again, drinking in her smile. "Yes, well, you're quite welcome Lena. The children enjoyed your company, too." I locked eyes with her for a moment and suddenly felt uncomfortable. I laughed nervously to break the tension.

"Especially little Gracie, she didn't let you out of her sight!"

"Mmm," Lena agreed serenely, taking her eyes off of me to inhale the sunset.

Somehow I had ended up a foot from her, resting against another tree. In the gentle breeze I caught hints of Lena's perfume, warm and inviting in the winter air. I still couldn't place that scent, although I knew by now it was agreeable to my senses.

And that single thought scared me to death.

"She is a sweet child. They all are. I think –" she looked back at me, "– having a place to stay and be loved is a small consolation for their misery. They are lucky to have you, Father."

Lena gave me a sincere smile and watched the light die away. Sometime during our outing it had begun to snow, large flakes dusting us under a canopy of dark branches.

"Me? I've done nothing –" I felt my heart sink when her eyes found mine. It amazed me how blue they were, even as the sun fell lower behind the trees. "It's Sister Teresa who has been a blessing to those children. I don't find nearly enough time to devote to the cause."

I bowed my head towards my shoes, kicking away a few pieces of white clinging to my pant leg. "It pains me greatly to know there is so much more I could be doing, and yet cannot."

"How can you say that, Father?" Lena had straightened, no longer against her tree. "Sister Mary Roberts told me you visit almost every week. That is far more than most do; it's very noble.

"From what I can tell, the 4077th keeps quite busy. In only a day and a half I've already seen hundreds of faces pass through camp. The fact you put aside time at all shows how much you care." She gave me an earnest smile, settling back against her tree. "Those children love you, Father; there's a reason for it."

The wind had died away, the soft flutter of falling snow filling our awkward silence. It was true that the children enjoyed my company, and I enjoyed theirs. But I had a difficult time breaking away from the crush of war to help. I tried to do all I could, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Even my feeble attempts at charity did not measure up to the work of Sister Teresa, who spent the better part of two years tending to orphans around Korea. How could anyone give me credit?

Suddenly I felt quite cold standing along the thatch of trees.

"Perhaps we should head back, Lieutenant." I said a bit drier than intended, regretting at once the look of hurt in Lena's eyes.

I meant to correct this mistake but found words impossible. She smiled sadly at me and nodded, diverting her eyes.

In silence we walked back to the orphanage, avoiding each other's gaze in the last wisp of sunlight. Even after we thanked the Sisters and said goodbye, the two of us remained mute, riding back to camp without another word.

I felt a terrible weight upon my chest as I entered my tent, but the cause escaped me. How strange it was really, to feel so broken. After all, this was what I wanted wasn't it? To maintain a professional relationship, to keep my distance. Lena didn't need an old Priest hanging around her anyways. I had to keep my distance. It wasn't proper for a chaplain to behave otherwise – I had to remind myself time and time again. This was the right course to take.

So why did I feel so miserable?


	4. Innocence Lost

The next few days kept Lena fairly busy, pulling ten hour shifts with the rest of the medical personnel. Our much needed order of penicillin finally came in with the help of Radar and his bartering skills, just in time for a thick wave of wounded. As luck would have it not one of those innocent boys were lost, for which I thanked the Lord profusely.

Since that night Lena and I parted on odd terms I really hadn't spoken to her at all. She tried to make conversation on several occasions, but each time I was pulled away by other matters. It was frustrating to say the least, but I didn't exactly go out of my way to make up for lost time. I was afraid. I wanted badly to speak with her, to exchange stories about home, to maybe sit down and play the piano together. She was a very nice girl after all, and we had much in common.

But I was afraid.

Afraid that she would see me only as another faceless chaplain as many enlisted men did, a military padre, this camp's resident 'Holy Man' as Hawkeye had put it. Maybe she didn't want to hang around with an old priest, who hung boxing gloves in his tent and played goofy ragtime to fool himself into thinking he was more than the Cloth. Rejection seemed such a cruel fate.

But mostly I was afraid of myself, of overstepping my boundaries. Getting too close and forgetting my place was something that scared me to death. I had already proven there was something about Lena that got the best of me. I couldn't fathom to guess what God thought of my behavior.

And yet I wanted nothing more than to walk with Lena as we did at Sister Teresa's orphanage, smiling and talking, the two of us enjoying each other's company.

Fear can be a powerful and irrational master sometimes. It was all very confusing.

I caught Lena one day when a break in her work permitted food. She was as lovely as ever, even after swapping her pressed uniform for army fatigues, walking through the snow-encrusted camp. I thought I might initiate a conversation but Hawkeye got there first.

"Splendid to see you again, dear Lady Iris," his voice enunciated each syllable with dramatic intonation, "may I escort you to the festivities? I hear Chief Igor has a lovely platter of gruel with our name on it." He held out an elbow and waited for Lena to accept.

With a smile, she reciprocated the enthusiasm. "Ah, Lord Dudley, how long it has been. 'Tis an honor." Feigning a respectful curtsey, Lena thanked him for the offer and wriggled her arm around his. My heart skipped a beat, plummeting into my stomach.

"The honor's all mine."

Before I could even get a word in, they had sauntered off arm-in-arm toward lunch, Hawkeye walking dignifiedly with an invisible cane. She was touching him. Lena was touching Hawkeye. Though just with an arm, I felt rotten on the inside.

They hadn't even seen me.

Not that I had made myself too prominent, I suppose. Had not the shadow of my tent prevented it, perhaps Lena would be walking with me instead. Well, not in such a manner of course.

With a sigh, I followed loosely behind, drooping from their happy banter.

I noticed with sudden lurching disapproval Hawkeye and Lena sat next to each other in the mess tent as well. This may not have been so odd, as doctors often sat together, but the smile she gave him was almost too much for me to bear.

It was the same exact smile she had given me that night outside Sister Teresa's orphanage, bathed in the healthy glow of sunset.

It was the same smile she had treated me to that night I consoled her, though far too tired to appreciate its impact at the time.

Part of me wondered if I was making too much out of nothing, as I dolefully crept through the threshold far behind them. Lena might just smile that way. That warm, inviting way both sweet and amusingly mischievous at the same time; like hot cocoa tinged with hazelnut on a crisp winter's morning, right after a good long run in the snow. What an inviting smile.

"Oh, my..." I felt my face flush at the thought and hastily broke for the food table. Filling a tray with unrecognizable goop, I discreetly sat down next to BJ, the three of them thick in conversation.

"– Honestly Hawke, I had never seen anything like it. The thing was huge. Must have been forty pounds at least." Captain Hunnicutt was busy chewing, gesturing with his hands to describe whatever he was talking about. "Probably three feet long, the fish was incredible."

Hawkeye, taking his eyes off of Lena just long enough to respond to his friend across the table, was obviously not impressed. "Impossible. No trout in the history of God – oh, pardon me Father – was ever three feet long.

"Three pounds, sure. Three inches? Kinda small, but you bet. Fish and guests stink after three days? Goes without saying, though Frank stunk after only an hour.

"But three feet? I'm not buying it."

He exchanged a grin with Lena and shoveled another forkful of grey mash into his mouth.

"I'm telling you, Hawke. The fish was almost as tall as Peggy."

"BJ –"

"I once caught a perch off the bank of Pennypack Creek. It...wasn't very big I'll admit, but it tasted wonderful. Katherine sprinkled a bit of lemon salt on it and fried it up in butter. Since it was so small, we only got a few bites a piece, but mmm, it was quite delicious." Before I could stop myself, the words snuck out. Immediately I wished I could crawl under the table and be forgotten.

Had I really just said 'Mmm'?

BJ looked amused, Hawkeye looked confused, but Lena – oh, Lena. Her blue eyes brightened as she leaned over the table to get closer to me.

"Pennypack Creek?" There was the smile I missed. "I used to spend hours fishing there with my brother. Never caught a darn thing of course –" she broke off to laugh casually, "– but Andy loved it. How could I complain? It made him so happy.

"I had no idea you fished there as well – oh, but I guess it wouldn't be the same section we used." She shook her head as if disappointed, caught reminiscing for no reason at all. "It's nice to be reminded of home though, even if it wasn't the intention."

That warm smile made me dizzy. I took my eyes off of her just in time to hear Hawkeye's enthusiastic reply.

"Why, Lena, you never told me you were a fisherman – fisherwoman, excuse me." Something in his gaze made my insides wither. He was looking at her as intensely as I'd seen him look at the nurses before. How appropriate that his name was Hawkeye Pierce.

And I suddenly remembered them walking along the snowy row of tents, arm-in-arm, their laughter echoing along the camp. I felt lost.

"What do ya say you and I get together after this war and go fishing? Crabapple Cove is famous for it, you know. Well, that and lobster." Hawkeye's blue eyes danced over Lena's. "Beautiful place, I'd think you'd love it."

"Alright," Lena agreed pleasantly, "when the war is over, we'll go fishing."

"Then it's a deal," and the two of them sealed their pact with a handshake. "Beej, you up for a little fishing too? Maybe you'll catch another three foot trout and prove me wrong." Hawkeye smirked when his friend approved the idea and then turned back to Lena, a dangerous excitement brewing beneath his features. "Then it's a date."

I stood up, no longer hungry. Not that the food had ever been particularly appetizing. "I – I think I'd better be going." I refused all opposition with a hand. "No no, I...I have some work I should be doing. I'll never finish in time for Sunday otherwise.

"Good day to you all."

After another day or so, I retreated to my tent for all meals. I just couldn't bear to witness.

They were a handsome couple, Hawkeye and Lena, laughing and exchanging smiles with one another like school children. I envied them. I envied _him_ actually. But a chaplain couldn't entertain such ideas – I reminded myself painfully.

I admit that it was wonderful to see Lena so happy, so vibrant. If nothing else I was glad she found a friend in these desperate times, although I felt even more miserable than ever. As for myself, I adopted studying the good book and remembering why priesthood was my calling. It took a bit to get that old feeling back I'm afraid, but the reading did help. So did all the Hail Mary's.

However, despite all off this effort, in the back of my mind I still felt rotten.

It was during one such afternoon I heard a knock on my door and just about had an ecstatic fit.

"Oh, come in!" I was halfway through when I had to stop and tab my place. Like a fool I immediately hoped it to be Lena, wishing to talk, quick to leave the handsome Hawkeye for this old priest. How my mind forgot itself.

Imagine my surprise when another woman barreled through. "Oh – Major Houlihan! How good to see you. Come in, come in." I did the best to cover my disappointment.

I stood to usher her inside but she put a hand out to stop me. "Father Mulcahy, could I have a word?"

"Of course my child, come in."

She closed the door and paced back and forth in front of my desk. I sat waiting on my cot, bible slipping from my hand to the bunk beneath. Margaret looked absolutely horrible, her makeup smeared from crying.

"Will you keep this to yourself, Father?"

With a wistful smile I remembered Lena saying that exact same thing the night I consoled her. "Oh, oh yes...as confessor...I'm always very confidential." I repeated hollowly, dwelling on the memory. How much longer could I keep up this charade?

"Right." She stopped pacing and dropped into my chair.

"It's Frank – Major Burns. As you may or may not know, Father, the Major and I...we...well, we've become somewhat _fond_ of each other over this last year or so. Quite fond of each other in fact."

I smiled humbly, feeling embarrassed. "O-oh, yes. I may have picked up a hint here or there."

She nodded lost in her thoughts. Major Houlihan was no longer looking at me, sad and watery eyed, so I stood to comfort her –

With a great shriek, Margaret let loose her frustration and caused me to reclaim my seat with a thud. "I just can't _take_ it anymore! He tells me I'm the only one for him, yet retreats back to his wife like some lost puppy looking for handouts.

"Do you know she sent him a letter the other day? Told him she wanted a divorce! _A divorce!_ I thought that would have meant we were in the clear, that he would finally take leave of that shriveled old woman to be with me. As he _claimed_ he wanted. But, _no!_

"Do you know what Frank did instead? Wrote her back like some sniveling baby begging her to reconsider, claiming I was..._well_ –" she broke off to shake her head dangerously, "– an old WAR HORSE, among other things!

"Well! I'll tell you what, Father. Dear _Baby_ _Frankie_ never complained I was an old _war horse_ during –"

"I-I see," I hastily cut her off, hoping she'd take the hint. I could very well guess what she was going to say, my cheeks flushing pink with the thought.

The woman resumed pacing in my quarters, balling her fists every few seconds and cursing. I treaded carefully, slowly, feeling the tips of my ears burning from the subject matter. "Well, Major Burns does have..._children_ with his wife. Perhaps he was thinking of them –"

"_HA,_" Margaret stopped and collapsed back into my chair. I wondered if it would still stand upright after that last attack. "It isn't the _kids_ he's thinking of! It's the _money_."

The Major made a disparaged sob and laid her head in her hand. "She owns the house, she owns the stocks...she owns _him_. He'll never divorce her. Ever. To him, she's his meal ticket.

"I'm just the old _war horse_."

I could see Major Houlihan was truly upset by this. After all, she spent the better part of two years with Frank Burns. It appeared like she might have even loved him. None of us knew why exactly, but I respected her devotion despite the ever-present obstacles. She was a strong person, much stronger than I was. At least she didn't hide in fear.

I edged over to Margaret and placed a hand on her shoulder. "If you truly feel this way, perhaps –" I made a face, trying to think of how best to phrase my advice, "– perhaps you should let him go."

"Let him _go?_" She repeated incredulously. "How? How could anyone let Frank Burns go?" I was about to answer but thought it wise to remain silent. "How can I go around the compound knowing the one person I want, I can't have? How can I go around lying to myself?"

A pang of familiarity struck me. "Well...sometimes the best path...is the hardest one to take." Part of me wondered if I wasn't preaching more to myself. "Major Houlihan – Margaret, believe me. I know this may be a difficult for you, but –"

"Oh, how would _you_ know?" She spat bitterly through her tears. "How would you know _anything_ about how difficult this is for me?

"You've never been in love." Her simple defeated statement hit me like a ton of bricks.

I knew Margaret was just lashing out at anyone who would listen so I held my tongue, patting her back reassuringly. We sat in silence for a minute or two, her crying into her palms. At one point she even buried her face into my sleeve and made a few noises I care not to repeat. Poor thing, I don't think I've ever seen the Major cry before.

Not over Frank Burns, at least.

Her words may have cut deeply, but as a chaplain it was my duty to remain strong. In truth I knew exactly how she felt. Despite what others believed, I had once been in love myself. Linda had been everything before she tore my world out from underneath me; I knew what true despair was.

Margaret eventually calmed down enough to apologize for her behavior and thank me. She knew I was right all along; she just needed some time to come to terms with the truth. We parted ways and I went back to reading, reflecting over how unusual the day had been.

Over the next week I must have read my bible in its entirety twelve times, picking up the good book whenever my mind drifted to Lena. Funny how thoughts can get the best of you, even when bittersweet. I watched from afar as she and Hawkeye strolled around the snowy compound, laughing and joking, bumping shoulders discreetly. My heart sank every time she smiled. How long had it been since she last smiled at me?

Every now and then Hawkeye would mess with her bun or tap her nose, and she'd laugh so happily, sending puffs of smoke into the winter air. Even in the OR Hawkeye would keep close tabs on Lena, asking her how she was fairing, giving her help as time allowed. He was Chief Surgeon after all, it was his job.

That was the mantra I repeated to myself every time those two ended up at shoulder's length from each other. It was his job. _It was his job._ The words slowly lost their meaning.

Lena seemed more at ease with Hawkeye around, taking the wounded in stride. She still worked slower than the rest and every so often looked nauseous, but there was a newfound confidence in her eyes. All due to Hawkeye, I was sure. He truly was a brilliant surgeon, and an even better friend.

And I was shamefully jealous of him. Would I ever find the courage to be Lena's friend?

It was just a day before Christmas when Radar came knocking upon my door, looking rather put out. Mail call. The man was completely inundated by letters and packages, carrying most in a sack around his shoulder and a couple loose pieces in hand. When I greeted him he dropped a few envelops and parcels into the snow.

"Aww, man!" Radar scrambled to stoop down but ended up losing even more. I politely volunteered to collect them for him. "Thanks Father. Boy, that would have been awful! Imagine not getting a letter from your family on Christmas. I know I sure would be upset."

He took what I had gathered and began stuffing the pile back into his sack. Briefly, I caught Lena's name on one and my heart skipped a beat. Miss Galena Marie Trepp, First Lieutenant. I smiled as Radar finished up, curiously wondering what the package contained.

"Oh, here you go, sir." He handed me a single letter, from my sister Katherine no doubt. "Hey, I forgot to tell you! Fluffy is doing a lot better. She ate two whole carrots yesterday and everything. All because of you, Father." Radar gave me a little squinty smile then quickly remembered his duties.

"Oh, well, thanks again Father. I have plenty more to pass around. Shame they had to fall out, I had them organized."

With a shake of the head he wandered off, missing my wave.

Without delay I opened my letter, enjoying the slanted scrawl. Katherine always did have nice handwriting.

_First Lieutenant Father Mulcahy, Chaplain_

_MASH unit 4077_

_Uijeongbu, South Korea_

_ASIA_

_Dear Francis, December 17, 1951_

_Merry Christmas! I hope my letter arrives in time. Always did have a problem procrastinating. How are you enjoying your holiday? Keeping busy?_

_I'm happy to report Saint Cecilia's has been very good to me these last few weeks – I know how concerned you were when I put in for transfer. Actually, the Reverend Mother has taken quite well to my presence, allowing me to head the church choir among other things. How I love it! I haven't dabbled in my musical side since...I can't even remember. Have I gotten that old?_

_She has also allowed me to start a Sunday school program for the local children. The Reverend Mother told me that as long as it did not interfere with my duties, interacting with the children would be most rewarding. After all, Fox Chase has little in the way of activities for the small ones and everyday we worry about bad influences reaching their ears. _

_I'm relieved to hear you are doing well. How are the children, is Sister Teresa holding up? What a horrible thing, war. Although I know you are doing much good over there, I pray everyday that you return to us soon. Oh, Francis, I wish you could be here for Christmas. We will be putting on a play, my Sunday school and I, featuring a nativity scene and everything. I'm truly blessed to have these children in my life, each and every one of them._

_I've also been privileged enough to get acquainted with Father Maurice, a visiting priest from Saint Joachim's in Frankford. What a nice man, and young too. Hard to believe he's accomplished so much already. The children just love him. Father Maurice is actually assisting me with my play, seeing as many from his church attend my Sunday school. Being so close to one another, naturally the two churches get along well. _

_He's told me up until recently a young woman had organized such a program at Saint Joachim's, but no longer could offer her services. Father Maurice says she was a great girl, a doctor even. They were all sad to see her go. And with no one to take up the reigns, their program died away – much to the children's disappointment. _

_We are glad to have them though._

_Well, I wish you a very wonderful holiday again. Take good care of yourself. I hope to hear from you soon, Francis!_

_With love, _

_Katherine_

I couldn't help but grin as I replaced the letter back into its envelope. At least now I knew Katherine was doing well. I had been quite worried when I first received notice of her transfer. I was afraid that being so close to home would do more damage than good, keep her mind occupied with other matters. She was a great nun, the best. I was glad being in Fox Chase hadn't distracted her too much from her duties.

Something itched its way back into my mind and I hastily unfolded her letter again. I had skimmed over the last few paragraphs without much thought; it took a second to register.

_I've also been privileged enough to get acquainted with Father Maurice, a visiting priest from Saint Joachim's in Frankford._

Frankford? Why did that sound familiar? What an odd feeling to have, like déjà vu.

_He's told me up until recently a young woman had organized such a program at Saint Joachim's, but no longer could offer her services._

I almost collapsed in my doorway. ...a_ young woman... Saint Joachim's... Frankford... _Surely it couldn't be._ Father Maurice says she was a great girl, a doctor even ._.._a doctor..._

_...a doctor..._

My mind was swimming backwards, trying to recreate that conversation two weeks or so ago when I had first met Lena. Where had she told me she was from? I remembered her excitement to learn I lived nearby. Had she said Frankford? My heart leapt into my throat as I gripped the parchment determinedly. Frankford did sound familiar, and the Pennypack Creek wasn't that far away from there, I was almost certain. A few miles at best.

I knew I should show Lena Katherine's letter. What a wonderful opportunity to regain our friendship!

My feet found themselves rapidly closing the distance to Major Houlihan's quarters, not even stopping when Radar crossed their path. He had said hello and I hastily waved back, never missing a beat. There was a new spring in my step, my heart pounding viciously beneath my turtleneck. In a few moments I would see Lena, talk to her again. Perhaps even get rewarded with a smile. I wanted to pick our friendship back up where it had ended.

Or had it ever truly begun?

No one answered when I knocked on Margaret's tent.

Trying not to feel discouraged, I trotted toward the mess tent, remembering it was almost dinner time. Perhaps she had gone early. A few enlisted men greeted my frown at the door, but Lena wasn't there. Igor hunched behind his long bench as usual, setting out pots of unrecognizable slush in preparation. Vaguely he nodded a hello and scattered utensils into their appropriate places.

Where was Lena?

Hesitantly I made my way over to the women's shower, swaying a few yards away. The wind had picked and I struggled to stay warm, wrapping my flannelette shirt tighter around me. I waited uncomfortably to see if anyone entered or exited, hoping to ask about Lena's whereabouts. I made sure to pick a decent angle to avoid any – ah – improper views inside, but I still felt very out of place. Like a naughty child caught with a cookie before dinnertime.

After about five minutes I turned on my heel and retreated. What was I even doing?

By the time I had found the Officer's Club, thick dejection had dampened my mood considerably. Fear had also crept back in, but it was a different kind of fear than before. I was afraid for Lena. For all I knew, she could be out here in the cold lost somewhere.

Katherine's note had crumpled under the weight of my sweaty hand, worn thin in places and smudged along the edge. I was in such a haste to show Lena its content I didn't even bother to safely tuck the letter away inside its envelope first. Nor did I wear a jacket. What a fool I was turning out to be.

Nurse Kellye sat at the bar with Colonel Potter, discussing something I couldn't quite make out from my perch at the door. They didn't notice me of course, speaking animatedly through the warm glow of alcohol. Klinger teetered near the jukebox in what looked like a yellow sundress and heels, displaying his furry legs proudly. Across his open décolleté a string of pearls set off his chest hair nicely.

Oh, what in Lord's name was I saying?

Shaking my gaze away stupidly, I quitted the Club. My head was aching, each step taking its toll. I felt like I was walking through quicksand. Where was Lena?

We hadn't had wounded for a few hours, so she wouldn't be in the OR. And it was Major Burns' turn for Post OP duty – or so confirmed the bulletin board. Hawkeye would be up next, and then BJ, seeing as Major Houlihan was in Tokyo for a conference. Lena wasn't scheduled until nine the following day.

I was more than worried now, feeling dizzy and tired amongst the icy tents.

The sky had darkened quite a bit, blurs of ominous looking green blotted across the grey. It was settling into the beginning of a winter storm I knew, wind picking up loose snow and pummeling it into me. Miserably I staggered back toward my tent, Katherine's letter looking quite ragged in my frigid hand.

That's when I heard it.

Laughter.

Lena's laughter to be precise, though she wasn't alone. Another set of songlike mirth mingled with hers, a man's, coming from the dim corners of the Swamp. With a great shudder, my heart plunged, acid forming inside my throat. Hawkeye.

They sounded muffled, as if strained through a wool blanket. A small lamp was in use but the dark olive drab of the tent choked away its light; I couldn't make out their forms in shadow. I wobbled closer to the tent, my eyes blurring with each new step. I couldn't tell if my feet were actually walking, or just shaking that badly. Either way, somehow I made it to the doorway.

Under a curtain of snow, I paused, lurching forward when Lena's laughter tickled my burning ear once more. What were the two of them doing in there?

Just barely I could make out Hawkeye's voice, cheerful as ever. "– best I've ever had, no question."

"Certainly not as good as Marianne's?"

"Better. My mouth had never been so happy, I'm telling you Lena – it was like a religious experience, it was so good. Had the Pope _himself_ been in the room with us, he would have fallen on his hands and knees and reestablished his faith right there." Hawkeye made a few muffled noises that sounded like lips smacking together. "Trust me, I'm a doctor. Incredibly fulfilling."

There was another round of giggles. My numb hand wavered near the door, fist opening and closing unsure whether to knock or not. Thick pieces of snow had adhered to my hair and shoulders, clumping together and refusing to melt. Tears brimmed in my eyes and my glasses fogged, but I couldn't pull myself away. Certainly they weren't talking about –

"Mmm, well I hate to say this, Hawkeye...but..."

Finding my courage, I finally charged into the tent, looking like the abominable snowman in a turtleneck and cross.

"Full house!"

Hawkeye's next few comments went unregistered, as the scene unfurling made me stop breathing. The man had sprawled out belly first over his bunk, missing shoes, a sock, and his shirt. He still had his dog tags on, which he twirled sluggishly from his spot, now fumbling into a sitting position to adhere to Lena's demands. She sat crumpled around several overturned bottles and a glass, clothed in a purple bathrobe and looking suspiciously content.

BJ lay idle in his own bunk, humming a few smashed bars of Camp Town Races into a hat. All three were warming themselves by the lantern's soft glow, clothing hanging on a line above.

Hawkeye didn't notice me paralyzed in the doorway at first, pulling off his dog tags and surrendered them to Lena. "I'm going to win those back, missy.

"Girl's a hustler, I mean it. Watch out for that sweet innocent smile, it's a sham –" Hawkeye took a quick glance towards my direction, "– Ah, Father! You're just in time to see me lose to Lieutenant Trepp for the – what, fifth time?" His laughter abruptly ended as he did a double take and went pale. "Oh my _God_, Father! You look horrible!

"What's happened?"

"Father? Are you alright?!"

Betrayal lumped in my throat as I wretched forth my letter and let it fall, muttering something undecipherable as I shivered violently and looked away. With a wobble I fled, ignoring the concerned voices of Hawkeye and Lena, churning my legs forward through the slush.

Past the mess tent I struggled, beyond the Officer's Club and Rosie's Bar, not giving the ambulance pulling into camp a second's glance. I ignored the announcements of more wounded on the way, the sound of choppers whipping against the darkened sky. I fought against the thunderous pounding in my head, lungs stinging with winter's chill, blood boiling in my frozen limbs.

I had to get away.

By the time I was forced to slow it had begun to snow quite heavily, white flakes the size of cotton feeling unusually heavy against my skin. With each breath my chest shuddered painfully, cold air cutting right through my thin clothing. Turning my head skyward I yelled to anyone who would listen, crying into the clouded mess above. My face stung, numbed by the cold, my glasses opaque and unseeing.

I could hear Hawkeye's voice calling me a few yards back, Lena close behind. They sounded so worried; had they followed me all the way out here? They were worried, they were worried...they were –

With a defeated moan, I collapsed into darkness.


	5. Merry Christmas, Father Mulcahy

"Father?"

A gentle voice called from somewhere beyond the darkness. It sounded so familiar and yet –

"Father? Father Mulcahy? Can you hear me?"

My eyes opened briefly to a set of deep blue, vibrant like the waters of California. I had gone to California to be shipped out, I remember. So warm, everything seemed to radiate with sunlight that day, air redolent of salty beaches and palm trees. Such inviting waves...

After a moment I felt my eyelid lift, and where there once was blue, a bright light shocked me. I recoiled and struggled away instinctively, seeking darkness once more. 

A hand brushed my forehead. It felt cold.

"His eyes are dilated but there doesn't seem to be any signs of concussion. He feels feverish. I think we should move him to Post-OP for the time being."

"Can't – we're full up. He'll have to stay here."

What were they talking about? My mind felt soggy, like gravy swimming around a vat of cornmeal. Cornmeal...mmm. Katherine made cornmeal once. Or was it cornbread? It turned out a little too dry regardless, but oh so lovely. How I could almost taste it, fresh and hot and smothered in gravy...

"I'm due on Post-OP in a few minutes. Quite a bit of wounded we've had this evening, but I guess, what's Christmas without casualties? The enemy even gift wrapped a few of them for us. I spent almost an hour picking shrapnel out of one boy's bowels, another hour separating his stomach from his spleen.

"I'm telling you, Lena – the sooner they end this war, the better."

Lena? Was Lena here? Did Lena have the cornbread?

"Alright, Hawkeye. I'm going to stay until he's stable. Make sure to get some sleep later on if you can."

"I won't make any promises. If you need me, call."

I felt myself slip on the gravy, and all was silent.

What seemed like a moment later my eyes opened, this time of their own volition. That strange brightness no longer burned my retinas, for which I was thankful. There was still light, but much hazier, drawn along the edges of the room. I was in my tent, a pair of boxing gloves hanging from a nail proving as much. Dark olive drab greeted me, speckled with the signs of morning. 

Morning? I tried to sit up but two gentle hands stopped my attempt. 

"No no, lay down. You need rest; you've been through a lot, Father."

I accepted the proposal and slunk back into the bunk, head pounding through my ears. Was it possible to _feel_ sound? My glasses were missing so I couldn't really make out the woman's face, but her voice –

"Shhhh, rest." Apparently in my feverish stupor, I had been trying to form words. A damp cloth stroked my forehead, feeling cool against my flushed skin. "You've given us quite a scare, Father."

Why was her voice so familiar? Something in my chest throbbed but I couldn't tell if it was real or imagined. 

Then it hit me. "L-Lena?" I squeaked out, dragging up my covers protectively. Thunderous pain roared in my head, the room spinning. "W-what are you doing? What are you doing in my quarters –?

"–Touching me –" If my eyes had been any wider I think I might have been screened for drugs. My raving had dropped to barely a whisper, shivering like a child lost in the cold. "Oh, m-my..."

I thought for a moment Lena would be offended by my fright – get upset and flee as I had done the night before. But she did neither. Instead, the woman smiled kindly and continued dabbing my forehead as if I'd said nothing.

"I am a doctor, you know."

What a strange response. I felt scandalized, forced to lay down while she anointed me with water. "B-but you're a...you're a –" The words had trouble forming, "–a _woman!_"

Perhaps I was a bit more feverish than originally thought. 

"Good observation, Father. Tell, me – what tipped you off, exactly?"

Her laughter was quiet for she knew I had a raging headache. Laughter. The betrayal I had felt the night before swelled up again, but I bit through it to sound halfway decent.

"S-surely _Hawkeye_ –" well, not as decent as I could have been "– or BJ could attend to me instead? Colonel Potter?" Could Lena see my misery? Did she know what I went through to find her last night? I closed my eyes, not wishing to see any longer.

"Last time I checked BJ was on Post-OP duty, and both Colonel Potter and Hawkeye were still in the OR. We've been swamped with wounded – even the mess tent is acting as a makeshift ward for the time being. Shame Major Houlihan is in Tokyo, we could have used her help.

"Since I'm hardly as efficient as the other four doctors, I elected to stay with you. Meatball surgery is not my forte, I'm afraid I'd only be in the way." 

There was no shred of bitterness in her calm voice, soothing me and my vicious headache. Lena had wonderful bedside manner I decided, despite her shortcomings. "But –" I croaked out, "surely it doesn't take a doctor to still a fever?"

"No, it doesn't. I'll admit that. But I wanted to stay with you, Father." I could tell something else was on her mind, but she fought against it. "We couldn't just leave one of our own to fend for himself, you know. Besides, everyone with able hands is already working elsewhere. Unless...you want me to call _Major Burns?_"

There was a slight lilt to her voice at the end, and I recognized it instantly as humor. Another wave of agony hit me, remembering Lena clad in that purple bathrobe, sitting near an almost naked Hawkeye. Surely he had influenced her stance on Frank, it was only natural. The two of them appeared...quite close. My heart sank at the thought.

What a fool I was.

"No, don't call Major Burns." I whispered defeated, hollow. I prayed my fever would break soon so I could be left alone. "You may stay, if you must."

I wondered if Lena knew how much she had disappointed me, as she retracted the cloth and dipped it into a bowl of water. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine." I answered much too quickly, eliciting a curious raise from Lena's eyebrow. With a sigh, I relented. "Well, my head hurts a bit, so do my eyes. They sting and feel rather...dry." Probably from crying.

I refused to look at her, the memory of the purple bathrobe burning anew.

Lena nodded in silent assessment, taking me all in. With a hand, she continued cooling my forehead gently. "So, are you going to tell me what happened last night? Or do I let Hawkeye call Dr. Freedman here to ask instead?" There was a little smile on her face, as though she already knew the answer.

"Sidney? Why in Heaven's name would Hawkeye call him?"

She tilted her head to appraise me. "Well, a man who intentionally tries to give himself pneumonia can't exactly be deemed 'stable', now can he? Hawkeye thought you might be succumbing to the pressures of stress." Lena gave a mild frown. "You _have_ been working a bit too much lately, you know. We hardly even see you anymore."

I found myself furrowing my eyebrow with indignation. "I've been busy."

"Yes, I can see that." Lena's tender gaze melted into one of concern, watching my eyes twist away from her. "Father –" she stopped wiping my forehead and put the cloth back into its bowl. "– Is something the matter? Something other than stress, I mean?"

The sigh that I gave only further worked against me, silence thicker than pea soup filling the corners of my tent. How could I possibly tell her what was bothering me? I mumbled something deliberately ambiguous to try and end the conversation, hoping Lena would take the hint.

How could I tell her the problem when I didn't truly know myself?

"Alright, open." She held before me a glass thermometer, waiting for my mouth to comply. I did grudgingly, uncomfortable to have her hand so close to my face. "Good –" Lena smiled deviously, like a wily old fox pursuing a cornered chicken, "– Now that you will be – ah – _preoccupied_ for a minute, I thought I'd discuss something with you. Something I think needs clarification; something you may have taken the wrong way."

"Mmmnh?"

She chuckled lightly, enjoying her newfound power. "About last night, Father. Call me crazy, but a man doesn't normally trudge through camp without a jacket on for nothing. You were running away from _us_, not some imaginary monster." Lena folded her arms and regarded me for a moment. "I think you might have misunderstood something."

That was all I could tolerate. Taking the thermometer out of my mouth quickly, I handed it back to her and turned away. 

"Oh, I think I understood well enough," I whispered painfully. "Your condition made it pointedly clear, thank you Lieutenant Trepp." Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I fought to remain calm. 

She shook her head desperately. "Please, let me continue. Father, I'm not quite sure I understand exactly _what_ you think Hawkeye and I were doing last night, but I know whatever the case may be, you are wrong."

My gaze dropped, suddenly finding the foot of my bunk rather interesting. "It's alright, Lieutenant, you don't need to explain. What you and Hawkeye do is none of my –"

"– We were discussing cheesecake."

Her response was so unusual that I sat there dumbstruck into silence. Cheesecake? What? Surely that couldn't be true, and I voiced said suspicion.

"Honestly, Father. Hawkeye and I were discussing cheesecake."

The details of last night crept back up my throat, tasting terrible. "But –" Oh, Lord, why was I even saying this? "– you were in his bathrobe."

To this, Lena let out a bolt of laughter. "My clothing was wet!" She smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Earlier that day, Hawkeye and I took a quick walk around the compound. I hit an icy spot near the mess tent and...never being the graceful type...fell into what can only described as a pool of frozen slush water. Completely soaked myself through, right down to my socks," she admitted with a sheepish grin. 

"Poor Hawkeye went to my rescue but ended up just as I had."

"Slush water?" I felt my insides clench, remembering the hanging clothing over their lantern.

"Yes, slush water. Horrible stuff too, home to all sorts of odds and ends. Not to mention freezing. 

"Well, we were a bit too far from Major Houlihan's tent, so the two of us trotted toward his quarters instead – the Swamp, as Hawkeye affectionately calls it – and settled in. It wasn't until about three seconds after arriving that Hawkeye remembered most of his laundry was still with the local girl that washes clothing. 

"He had himself some random pants and a sock or two left over, so we divided the treasure equally amongst ourselves. I also took his robe, because I couldn't very well go topless –" Lena cut off before embarrassing us both. She smiled awkwardly at my wide eyes, her cheeks turning a slender shade of pink. "And don't worry; Hawkeye was a perfect gentleman, surprisingly enough. He turned around to give me my privacy, something that would frighten many a nurse to hear."

The memory of Hawkeye lying on his bunk with only a pair of pants and a sock assaulted me, and I suddenly felt ashamed. There had been a legitimate reason for his state after all. 

"BJ wasn't back yet, so we couldn't very well ask to borrow his clothing. Not that either of us would have felt comfortable _wearing_ his clothing. I've heard tales of his dirty socks standing upright and talking after a few days. 

"And it goes without saying Hawkeye would never shop from the Major Burns Collection."

I took her tale in stride, still hung up over the cheesecake bit. Where did that fit in? Strangely enough, learning the truth hadn't put my mind at ease at all. I felt rotten, yes, but something still bothered me. Perhaps the story explained the two of them being scantily clad, but the conversation I overheard –

"BJ returned from Post-OP duty about an hour or so later, and quite amused by our predicament might I add. We had hung our wet clothing over a lantern, hoping they would dry before it got too late. 

"We took to playing cards to pass our time." Lena gave a little sigh, probably thinking back on the memory. "After a bit of winning and losing on both sides, Hawkeye suggested upping the ante."

This was it, this was the part where Lena would tell me that they had...they had...

The smile on her face was crisp and even. "I'm afraid I'm not the richest of girls, so money was out of the question. Instead, we played for each other's dog tags – a tad odd, I'll admit – but when one has nothing else to barter they work with what they have. We talked about many things – our hobbies, fond childhood memories. Turns out we have little in common with each other, but we talked anyways –" Lena chuckled despite herself, "– about many things. It was during this conversation that the subject of food came up, remembering dinnertime was fast approaching. We ended up discussing our favorite desserts. 

"For me it was ice cream, for Hawkeye –"

"Cheesecake." I volunteered breathlessly, suddenly wondering if this was all just a misunderstanding as Lena had said. "Hawkeye's favorite dessert is...cheesecake?"

She nodded her blessing, happy I was following along. "One particular _variety_ of cheesecake that is, his then-girlfriend's version to be precise. When he was fifteen he loved it, couldn't get enough. Marianne would put a thick layer of strawberries and cream on top, Hawkeye made sure to stress. I think it was the cheesecake that kept him dating her to be honest." A round of giggles erupted, Lena shaking her head in mock disapproval. 

"That was until one day when he accompanied his friend home, where his mother had been in the kitchen baking..."

I could guess where this was going, remembering Hawkeye's words. "I-I see. So, the conversation really was about...cheesecake then." I felt like such a fool.

"Oh, by the way...I believe you dropped this last night, Father."

Out of her jacket pocket she drew a neatly folded piece of parchment, spotted with watermarks, but crisp as if pressed between two thick books. Katherine's letter. Had Lena taken the trouble to restore it?

I took the paper and examined it with my hands, eyes unable to focus on its details. "M-my glasses –" before I could ask, Lena offered them to me. "Uh, thank you." I looked dully at her, wondering how to apologize for my accusations. I felt rotten.

Katherine's letter was good as new, much to my surprise. Well, as new as it could have been all things considered. Some of her words had smudged and distorted from being wet with snow, but such care had been taken to preserve the writing. The parchment was a bit stiff and uneven in texture, but otherwise just fine. I couldn't believe it.

"You know, Father –" Lena began conversationally, "– I haven't seen you around camp as much these last two weeks. Not even at meals. 

"Ever since we went to visit the orphanage, you've been very distant. You didn't even stay after service last Sunday. And then, with the way you reacted last night..." She sounded mildly concerned but I feigned deaf, concentrating on the small slanted scrawl of my older sister. That old feeling of shame crept back into my heart. I couldn't tell her the truth. That I had been –

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding me."

Lena laughed lightheartedly, her joke never meant to ring so true. The honesty of her statement cut like ice, and I looked away miserably. 

Our tense silence sobered her immediately, eyes widening with realization. Oh, Lord, she knew. 

"Oh," Lena lowered her gaze for a moment, brow knitted together. She frowned weakly. "I see." But no sooner had she wilted, her face once again became composed. 

"Well, let's try to check your temperature again, shall we? I'm afraid we didn't get a proper reading before."

I faltered, not knowing how to respond. Her blue eyes looked a bit watery, but she continued on her happy way, as if I had said nothing. 

"Lena," I began timorously, "Thank you so much, for this." I gestured toward Katherine's letter. The woman regarded me with an open look for a moment, but hastily went back to what she was doing. I needed to apologize, beg her forgiveness. But my head pounded darkly instead, making me feel dizzy with regret. 

What if she didn't forgive me?

Lena held out the thermometer, but I hesitantly took her wrist instead. My eyes sought hers despite my reservations. "Lena..."

Before I could say another word a knock came from the other side of my door. Without a second's delay Hawkeye waltzed through, cheerfully humming an unfamiliar tune.

"– Mmm mmmm mmm, ah – Lena, I've come to relieve you. And how is our _special __patient_ fairing this morning –?" The man caught my hand around Lena's and stopped mid-step, quirking an eyebrow. A devilish grin plastered across his face. "Well, well, what do we have here? I say, Father, don't stop on my account." His happy little buzz made my cheeks burn four shades of red. I let go immediately. 

Hawkeye winked toward Lena, "Better watch yourself; Father Mulcahy might just be a lady's man in disguise after all. Don't worry, you two, your secret's safe with me."

"H-Hawkeye!" I blurted, humiliated. He laughed casually, twisting his mouth into another grin. I sank back down into my bunk, heart fluttering dangerously. My mind kept trying to reason it was the fever.

Lena turned to our guest despondently. "Come to relieve me?" Apparently she wasn't going to deign his joke with a response. "May I ask why, Hawkeye? I'm perfectly capable –"

"You're due in Post-OP, missy. Or have you forgotten the time in your newfound bliss?" He smiled widely, quickly feigning hurt. Pressing a hand to his chest dramatically, Hawkeye rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. "I leave your side for two minutes and you've already moved on to another man. Oh, the insanity!" He ducked just in time to avoid a slightly damp cloth pummeling toward him. 

"Ooo, fiery, I like that in a doctor."

Lena smirked momentarily before realizing I was still behind her. She glanced back in earnest, looking tired for the first time that morning. "Well, I guess Hawkeye will take it over from here." 

The woman rose and passed her friend, who waved his saucy goodbye with a few fingers and a laugh. 

I felt my chest tense as Lena reached the door, knowing I had to say something. How did this keep happening to us, these little misunderstandings? The silence after Sister Teresa's orphanage had damaged our friendship enough. I didn't think it could take this, too. 

Why could I never say the words I needed to say? I struggled to talk but nothing would form, and once again I felt my hand crush Katherine's letter with despair. I had to say something, this was my chance. This might be my only chance. I felt like such a coward. I felt torn between two different burdens, and my mouth quivered in trepidation. Would I never be able to speak what I needed to say?

Lena paused at the door, turning back to me, eyes hanging a bit unfocused and sad. "Merry Christmas, Father Mulcahy." 

And she was gone.


	6. Prescriptions

I lay back in my bunk, eyes tightly clamped shut, piecing together how this could have happened.

I had missed my opportunity, once again.

Worse still, I upset the one person I had tried so hard to reach this past month. Lena. I could practically hear our strings of friendship tearing apart. My false accusation had rolled off well enough, but the sad fact I spent almost two weeks avoiding the woman just couldn't be ignored. Quite understandable, I'm afraid.

I felt rotten. Lena had only wanted to befriend me and I let her down.

On Christmas at that.

I didn't think I could have felt much lower. That was until Hawkeye casually mentioned Lena's staying with me all night, watching over my vitals, forgoing sleep for this old priest's welfare. I couldn't believe it, and stated this much with a note of dread.

"Oh yeah," he confirmed conversationally, situating himself on the chair, "wouldn't leave your side for a moment. Not even to go test Igor's latest soup du jour, Cesspit ala Korea. They say if you look hard enough you can see where the locals washed their socks in it.

"Brought her some breakfast this morning, but can't say she touched that either." Hawkeye lazily gestured toward a tray I had only just seen, lumps of grey mash poking over its rim. "Not that I can blame her. The food around here is enough to spoil anyone's appetite. I've got bedpans that look more edible than that slop.

"But still, I wonder –" Hawkeye stretched out to take up the fork, peering over a few formless blobs like a scientist watching his microscope. "If one is hungry enough –" With a quick decision he stuck a forkful into his mouth, removing the graying bits of food just as quickly as they came. "Oh, yuk! Note to self: powered eggs taste even worse cold than they do hot. If my mouth could disown my tongue, it would. My gums are receding as we speak. My teeth are growing fur to hide under. Yuk! _Bleh!_

"Tastes like I just sampled the Latrine's Finest. I take back what I said – no one would eat this stuff cold, starvation or not." The man proceeded to spit what little residual taste he had left, and made a horrid face._ "Jesus!"_

"Oh, sorry Father." He wiped the last of the grizzled mass off on the back of his hand and finished his tirade with a grimace. "Don't eat that stuff; it'll kill you."

I looked at him warily, mind elsewhere. "That's quite alright, Hawkeye." I think my dull tone might have given me away, for the man eyed me carefully. "Um, Hawkeye?" The timid question sounded more like a squeak than anything else. "About last night –"

"Eh, don't mention it. A lot of guys – and I do mean a lot of guys – fold under stress. It's a natural occurrence of war. That, and Athlete's Foot." Leave it to Hawkeye to manage in a joke at such a crucial moment. I almost smiled despite myself.

"Wanna talk about it?"

I screwed up my mouth deciding. "Well, there isn't much to talk about, Hawkeye. I've just been...busy."

"Yeah, I can see that."

For two people who apparently had little in common with one another, Hawkeye and Lena certainly did sound alike. I swallowed a lump that had formed in my throat and nodded, half to myself. The two of them must have become a very tight-knit couple over the last few weeks; they even shared sentences now.

"Father, it occurs to me that you've been spending a lot of time locked up in here –" he sluggishly lifted his hand to gesture around the room, "– not coming out for anything other than causalities and food. And even then you are so quiet we hardly notice you. Father, I know preaching is important, but you never used to spend the entire week writing up one sermon for Sunday.

"What's going on? I know you well enough to know when there's trouble."

I frowned, not wanting to burden the man. "Really, Hawkeye, it's nothing –"

"– And don't tell me 'nothing'! Now I know there is something wrong. I care, Father. Really, I do. Without you this whole outfit would be one giant landmine." He gave me a little smile that said 'I'm worried' and furrowed his eyebrows. I tried to ignore it. "But, alright. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine; I won't force you to take your own confessional."

"You won't call Sidney, will you?" The words escaped so quickly it took a moment to realize I had said them. Dr. Freedman was a good man, but I didn't need a doctor for that sort of work. I didn't want one either.

Hawkeye looked like he expected this reaction. "So, Lena told you then, I take it?"

The man promised he wouldn't inform Sidney if I promised I'd talk to someone about my problems and get them sorted out. It seemed like a fair trade I suppose, but that left another issue – who to tell?

Colonel Potter would certainly keep the information confidential, but I couldn't have him thinking about transferring Lena on my account. BJ might work, since he was fairly good at listening. But the way I understood it, he was pretty homesick over his wife and a letter she had sent him. He had his own problems, no need to shovel mine on too.

Then there was Hawkeye, who should have been first on my list. For anything else, he would have been. He was truly a great man, a wonderful friend in times of need, but I still had my reservations. I knew there was no need; Hawkeye had been there for me time and time again.

But somehow this was different. It concerned him, at least, distantly.

For a long time we sat in silence, watching as morning filtered steadily into my tent. The olive drab was dappled with sunlight now, shapes from snow covered branches outside decorating my walls. It was a peaceful break, until finally Hawkeye forced me back to earth.

"Nasty bruise you've got forming, Father." The man gestured darkly to a spot on his own forehead, which I knew meant mine was looking pretty gruesome. I thought I might gingerly touch it, but Hawkeye warned against such things with a hand. "Took a bad fall out there, you hit a rock we think. All that snow, it was hard to tell. Both of us had to scramble to keep up with you – luckily, our clothing was mostly dry by then, give or take a few damp sleeves."

Ah, so the story was true. I guess that last shred of doubt I had held onto was now gone. Lena was telling the truth. I'm not sure why I even questioned it really, for some reason my mind kept offering excuses for my actions. Selfish justification I think.

An old feeling of shame crept back into my heart and I sat in silence.

"Boy, for someone so slim you'd think Lena was a good athlete –" Hawkeye made a face and shook his head comically, "–she was probably ten feet behind me the entire time. Behind _me!_ And you know how much I despise physical exertion. I've seen army sanctioned gruel that moves faster." He pointed once again at that forsaken tray. "But she was a good sport about it.

"I'm afraid she won't be making the Olympics this year, though."

I nodded, refraining from moving my head too much. Even my hair felt sore. Something Hawkeye had left unsaid lingered for a moment, forcing my mouth open. "How did you get me back here?"

He hummed his reply, taking out his stethoscope. "Elementary! My dear Watson it is simplicity itself...no doubt you knew we would have no stretcher and no assistance with which to transport you, leaving only one obvious choice of moving you by hand. Dear Lena and I had to carry you out by force.

"Deduction proves it was _I_ who was behind the entire thing – I was planning to use the inheritance money to buy a canary and a box of matches!" Hawkeye laughed madly for a second, throwing his head back with a fake English accent.

"You may now remove this case from your file box, as it has been solved." I didn't understand what he was talking about so I just smiled faintly and waited, watching him smoke from a fake pipe.

He dropped to his normal register and asked me semi-seriously, "No? Not a Sherlock Holmes fan? What about the Hardy Boys?" With a big booming voice he suggested, "Mystery of the Freezing Chaplain." Even his hand seemed to follow the words as they were laid out before me.

"You be Joe, I'll be Frank." Hawkeye caught himself and hastened to add, "Well, not _that_ Frank." A theatrical frisson erupted. "Alright, enough of this. I'll be the one laying on that bunk getting my vitals checked if I think too much about being Frank.

"Breathe for me, Father." And with a hand he pressed the cold metal of his instrument to my chest. I yelped, which he mirrored perfectly. "Yes, they can be quite cold I hear. The nurses tell me often."

There was a dangerous grin on his face which I was quick to quell. "I-I see. Perhaps we should talk about something else? Seeing as I'm a bit...indisposed at the moment, I can't very well retreat to my quarters during such wild conversation." I chuckled lightly, throwing a hand up to suggest we were already there anyway.

"Ah, yes. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Hawkeye supplied a little wink at the end which made my insides clench. Briefly I wondered if Lena had been added to his extensive list of conquests. "Inhale deeply, like you mean it."

For the next few minutes, the man moved about my chest and back listening to my breathing. Hardly what you could call a painful process, but I felt uncomfortable now that his stethoscope had been related to...well..._fraternizing_ with the nursing staff. And perhaps a certain doctor.

"You sound good, Father. It hasn't entered your lungs; you're a lucky priest."

"So I've heard." I sounded hollow even to myself. With a sigh, I did up my robe and lay back down, closing my eyes. "Hawkeye?"

'Hmm' was my only answer, and I cracked an eyelid to see the man riffling through his sack of belongings. Probably trying to find something else to prod me with, now that he had relinquished his first toy. I didn't know why, but I suddenly felt like spilling my secrets to him, yearning for a reaction to my behavior. Perhaps that's the reason soldiers confessed to me; they wanted that special attention – the acknowledgement that someone else knew and understood what they had done.

Life just isn't fun without an audience, I suppose.

I frowned and went back to looking at my ceiling. I never noticed how dusty the canvas was until now. "Hawkeye, I was wondering..." Oh Lord, what could I even say to the man? He still seemed to be half listening, half digging his way out of Korea. "Do you ever have doubts?"

That got his attention. "Are you kidding? I can't take a shower around here without having doubts. Will a sniper aim wrong and hit me? Will the water be cold? Will nurses suddenly stumble upon my stall and force themselves in, clothed only in a tow – oh, sorry Father."

"No no, that's quite alright Hawkeye. You've answered my question at least, thank you. It's good for this priest to know others have troubles at times as well."

He appraised me for a second, setting down his medical bag and brandishing a thermometer. "Everyone has doubts, Father. Everyone has troubles – and problems. Indigestion, nausea, insomnia, dysentery. Add shingles, shrapnel, and death to the list, and you have a guidebook to the Korean War.

"You may wear that cross around your neck, but that doesn't mean the heart underneath is excluded from the regular aches and pains of life. You're allowed to doubt yourself – or others. You deserve to be just as human as anyone else, Father.

"I don't think God would mind. Now, open up."

"No, I suppose not." I gave him a weak little smile and did as he said. There was so much more I needed to say, but I couldn't. And not just because I was getting my temperature taken. After a whole minute had elapsed Hawkeye proclaimed me healthy and my mouth was free to decide what to do.

I had to say something, didn't I?

"Um, Hawkeye?"

"Yes, Father?"

I shuffled back toward him. "About last night –" My second attempt resulted in Hawkeye sitting quietly, patiently. He knew I was serious about talking now. And that thought made me clam up, forcing out a quick and simple dodge. "Lena told me the story."

Not quite how I had imagined. Hawkeye must have thought the same. "Story?"

"About the frozen slush water and the cheesecake." My hasty clarification couldn't have come out any faster, or jumbled. I had to replay it in my mind twice to see if it made any sense. "I mean of course, the story of your walk around the compound...and the conversation right before I –" my head fell in shame, "– made my entrance."

"Ahh, _that_ story." A faint smile played on Hawkeye's face, looking up past my ceiling toward a fond memory. "Marianne Miller. The best cheesecake in all of Crabapple Cove – the best legs, too. Voted Miss Cove of '33, you know. Wonderful legs, terrific cheesecake. Put a thick layer of strawberries and cream on top, and I mean a _thick_ layer. Delicious. My favorite until my friend Charlie brought me home to meet his mother." His features stretched into a childish grin at the thought.

"Face like the business end of a pit-bull, but cheesecake to die for. I would have eaten the entire thing myself if Charlie hadn't taken away my fork and banished me from his kitchen.

"Ruined our friendship."

Hawkeye laughed a bit and settled back down. I merely nodded along, finally understanding how a dessert could affect him so much. Once again my brain had tried to make excuses for my actions, and once again I felt rotten for it. Everything Lena had said was true.

What a fool I was.

"Uh, yes. That story." I timidly agreed, casting my gaze toward my feet. "I'm afraid I may have taken it out of context last night. Lena – Lieutenant Trepp, I mean – cleared up my...uh...misconceptions though."

"Misconceptions?" Hawkeye looked at me silently for a moment and deducted his own answer. "Ah – _those_ misconceptions! Right, right. Well, as much as I'd love to agree with those certain _misconceptions_ of yours...I'm afraid not. Cheesecake and other dessert items of interest were the highlight of the evening. What with BJ in the next cot and all." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Was that what bothered you last night? Made you fly the coop covered in a layer of snow and ice? _Cheesecake?_"

I've never heard such loud laughter in all my life. I twisted away in agony, trying my best to cover the wound. "Father! Was _that_ what this was all about? Why didn't you just say so last night? I mean, the cheesecake was _good_, but hardly a reason to go jogging through a blizzard in two degree weather." He studied me through his enjoyment, voice softening. Something devilish was brewing under his features, his mouth peeling into a deliberate smile.

"Nothing happened last night, nothing to worry about anyway. I won't go converting your conservative Catholic schoolgirl any time soon, rest assured."

I opened my mouth to speak several times, words refusing to obey. Must have looked like a guppy. "I see." Should I thank him? I honesty didn't know how to react. Something about his tone frightened me.

"Besides," Hawkeye's voice still carried that customary hint of humor, but there was something more swimming around too, "I think she might be gunning for the 'long haul' before such business ventures, so to speak. Stories she's told me suggest as much." He lowered his pitch and moved in closer. "Just between you and me, Father, I'm allergic to commitment. Girls who _are_ interested are...nice, usually. But it's just not for me. I have an understanding with most of our nursing staff.

"Wounded aren't the only ones I pick up and send off quickly around here, you know."

I blushed slightly and averted my eyes. "I-I see." I wasn't sure I wanted to know this much about him. I'm wasn't even sure I knew what he meant, but it had to have been something risqué in nature. I recognized that grin. I also recognized the shift to 'commitment' and thought it was a safe road to take. "Well, you may perhaps marry one of these days, Hawkeye."

"Me? Never!" That old singsong voice was back and ringing high with theatrics. "I shall never marry, lest I bias my selection." He slapped a hand over his heart as if to say it could never be won. I looked doubtful. He was a good looking guy after all, and women seemed to enjoy his company. One woman in particular, at least.

Hawkeye seemed to understand my discomfort a bit too well. "Don't worry Father, Lena and I are just friends." He shot me a knowing look I didn't like one bit. "As of this moment forward, I'm a pure and utter saint."

"A-are you now?" I tested the water, trying not to blush too badly. "I somehow doubt that, Hawkeye. But if you wanted to make a pledge of faith, I'm all ears."

"Are you kidding? I'll have you know I'm saving myself for marriage!" There was that humor again. I think if he had not become a doctor, Hawkeye would have made an excellent actor. "Well, your temperature is normal; your breathing has become steady. You've got a cold, but nothing a little rest won't cure.

"You have an ugly bruise but otherwise seem to be just fine. The pneumonia you tried so valiantly to give yourself seems to have passed you over for greener pastures. I'm sorry to tell you this Father but – you're going to live. My condolences.

"Therefore my faithful charge," He commanded in a pseudo-authoritative voice, "I prescribe two days of R and R in the confines of this tent, without any added stress – which means no writing up sermons, Father, you wild thing. I also recommend nurses and the occasional sponge bath on the side, you lucky dog, you. Unfortunately, I cannot excuse you from the food." He picked up the leftover tray with disgust and slipped the strap of his bag around a shoulder. "My heart goes out to you, brave soul."

Hawkeye stood and reached the door without another word, turning to flash a devious smile. "Perhaps I'll even tip off a _certain doctor_ as to this prescription and send her on by. Two days of R and R will do wonders for any man.

"Trust me, I'm your doctor. As for me, I plan on taking a long nap. With any luck, I might even get some sleep."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was faster than I had predicted. The wooden door shut back on itself after him, and I let out a long sigh.

Two days of rest and relaxation with Lena?

Wasn't that a contradiction of terms?

My stomach found itself lurching somewhere between my throat and shoulders, and I sank back into my cot and prayed. Nothing formal of course, just a simple request that I thought would do some good. I felt nauseous suddenly, reflecting on how my life had turned upside down inside just a month.

Hawkeye would most certainly tell Lena all about this. It was up to her whether she visited or not. Part of me wondered if she'd even consider doing so after how I'd treated her. Perhaps I hadn't been outwardly cruel, but I had judged the woman before I gave her a chance. How many times had I preached against doing that very same thing?

With a defeated sigh I took off my glasses and folded them unto my nightstand, feeling a wave of sleep overwhelm me. I wasn't sure how much time had actually elapsed between the two doctor's departures, but to me it felt like days. My head ached near the bruise but I was too tired to examine it right now. Such things would have to wait for tomorrow.

As I drifted toward sleep, another unspoken prayer touched my lips and pulled them into the tiniest of smiles. Something I had not expected; a wish left forsaken for quite some time.

With all my heart, I hoped Lena would once again walk through my door.


	7. A Fresh Beginning

The sound of Klinger knocking animatedly on my door woke this tired priest up with a jolt. I had only slept a wink so I was pretty groggy when he came in, brandishing a tray full of MASH's finest. The smell made my stomach remember its previous nausea, the bright room spinning in protest.

I managed to pull myself into a seated position just as he slid my desk chair over. Setting the tray down, the man in the dress gave a little nod and smiled.

"Brought you some lunch, Father. Heard about what happened. That's too bad. But, it seems like you are better now." He straightened the hem of his green ball gown and looked apologetically down at me. "Hope this stuff doesn't make you relapse; I have handbags that taste better."

He made a face and waited for me to respond. "Oh, yes, that wouldn't surprise me at all, Klinger." That you have handbags, I wanted to add. My eyes drifted momentarily toward his white lace gloves, but fell to the tray respectfully. "Thank you, Klinger. I admit that I do feel...a bit hungry. Food would do me some good."

"Shame you have to settle for this then."

Without another word the man sashayed from my tent, leaving me for other KP duties I suppose. He was constantly on one job or another, Colonel Potter kept him fairly busy. With all his crazy schemes I guess it was for the best; keep him preoccupied and there would be no time for Section Eight proposals.

Although I do admit some of his ideas were quite funny to witness. Ah, well.

I took up my fork and proceeded to eat against my better judgment, dizziness slipping away to reveal a massive headache. I was almost through what tasted like rubber tire, when another knock came from my door.

It was softer than the first, and for that I was grateful. Not many people would be so subtle, so I ran down the list of potential names guessing who it was.

"Please, come in."

My pulse raced at the hope it might be Lena. Maybe Hawkeye had talked to her, told her about the next two days. Maybe she had forgiven me. I was giddy as a schoolboy, besides the raging headache.

"Are you still there? You may come in."

The door cracked open a notch and a teddy bear passed through. I thought that was odd, until Radar O'Reilly followed close behind, holding onto his bear by the waist.

"Father Mulcahy, sir?" The man came in and shut the door quietly, affectionately clutching his stuffed friend. "Oh, good, you're up sir. I was afraid I'd wake you." He respectfully stood near my desk, shuffling his feet.

"How are you doing, Father?"

I smiled, setting down my fork. "A bit better, thank you Radar." My eyes kept wandering to the teddy bear, wondering where that fit in. "Um...how are you?"

"Who, me? I'm real good, sir." He rocked awkwardly in place for a second, looking rather uneasy. "Um, Father Mulcahy, sir? Sir, I know it isn't much, but..." The man made a face and hesitantly offered the bear to me.

"He's been my friend for a while now sir, and – and...he's always taken good care of me when I've been sick." Corporal O'Reilly hastily reclaimed his bear and squeezed it protectively against his chest, "I thought, I mean...I was wondering – if you might need a friend too...well..."

I could tell that Radar did not really want to give his friend to me. The intention was nice, and I appreciated it, but I didn't have the heart to part a man and his bear. I smiled as best I could and shook my head slowly.

"Thank you Radar, that means a lot to me. But I think your bear would be happiest with you, don't you agree?"

The man immediately sagged into a more comfortable position. "Oh, yes sir! I mean...are you sure, sir?" A question that was almost a plea; yes I was sure. And I stated as much with a simple nod. "Well, thank you sir. I hope you get feeling better. After you helped Fluffy get better, boy, you just have to!"

"How _is_ Fluffy doing?" I thought it was a safe question to ask, and Radar grinned approvingly.

"She's just great! Your blessing really did the trick, Father Mulcahy." He squeezed his bear again, softening his grin into a thin line. "Bongo was happy to see she was better, too."

The name sounded familiar, but Radar had so many pets it was hard to keep them straight. "'Bongo', Radar?"

"My rabbit, sir. My other rabbit, sir. I keep Bongo and Fluffy in separate cages because he's a he and she's a she, Father. Otherwise – you know what they say about..._you know_..." He gave a little fit, looking quite embarrassed, speaking so low I strained to hear. "..._rabbits_..."

"Ahh, yes."

I knew what he was getting at. Even a priest knew about such things. A thought struck me, watching the man hold his teddy bear dangerously close to himself. He'd be a safe person to ask, seeing as he knew where almost everyone was at all times. It was part of his job.

"Um, Radar? Do you happen to know where Lieuten –"

"– Lieutenant Trepp is on Post-OP duty, sir. She won't be off 'til around dinnertime."

How did he do that? I straightened and nodded, just in time to catch a wave of goodbye as the man disappeared from my tent. Odd. Now I knew how Colonel Potter must feel. I went back to eating, dwelling on his words.

Dinnertime.

That was hours from now, I had to do something to take my mind off of things. I couldn't explain why, but the worry that Lena wouldn't forgive me was alarming. Yes, she was from my home town – or close by, at least. I wanted desperately to catch up on life outside of Korea, which I really had yet to do. And yes, she was a devout Catholic – something I couldn't say about too many other people in this unit. She'd be a good person to converse with and maybe help out on my sermons from time to time. Heaven knows I had writer's block most days.

But that didn't explain the anxiety. I had hurt her feelings and felt rotten, maybe that was it?

I shook my head and frowned. I was dreading the hours to come.

I couldn't bring myself to eat anymore so I set down my fork and slunk further into the cot, examining the sun dappled ceiling above. It had to be past noon by now. My eyelids felt heavy and dry, brain still pounding in my ears.

Sleep wouldn't be a hard thing to accomplish today, I decided, sluggishly counting the unfinished nails holding my tent together. I closed my eyes and let go.

A few hours later another round of knocks interrupted my rest and BJ came in to check on me. He and I talked briefly about my aches and pains, and then moved on to take my temperature and blood pressure – both of which had remained normal, more or less.

I asked about the wounded and BJ informed me most, if not all, were being dispatched today. Some severe cases had to wait to stabilize of course, but the mess tent had been reclaimed and Post-OP had all but vacated. The Christmas Rush was over, or so BJ promised.

As time went by we even discussed Peggy and Erin, BJ's family back home. I could tell the man had been worrying for quite some time, but he bottled it in well.

I guess with me bedridden for the day, now was the best time to uncork those troubles.

"– and she couldn't understand why I was upset! I tried to talk to her on the phone about it, but you know these signals – I was lucky to reach her at all."

He shook his head and collapsed onto my chair, the tray suspiciously gone. Briefly I pondered over who might have snuck in to fetch it while I was asleep. Probably not Klinger, as his stunning entrance before had woken me up forcefully. Hmm.

"Got halfway through the fight and the line disconnected before I could tell her how much I love her." BJ sank into his palms, sighing deeply. "I just hate this war. If I hadn't been drafted I'd be home – holding Erin in my arms, kissing Peggy; being a father and husband, working in a clinic with sanitary conditions. No fighting over the phone, no mail-to-mail relationship – no worries, just...living the life I wanted for so long."

I gave him a sympathetic frown and patted his shoulder. "My son, I know this is difficult for you. It is difficult for many. But your wife knows how much you love her, and she is lucky to have such a devoted husband.

"The war won't last forever, you'll be home again. All in due time."

"I know Father, it's just – I don't want Erin growing up without knowing me. I don't want Peggy forgetting me, or missing me, or finding solace in another man."

"She's been faithful to you for so long, BJ; have a little faith in her, too." I did well to sound gentle, and the man seemed to appreciate the effort.

He considered my words for a moment and nodded. "But she keeps talking about her 'new friend', Paul Dellar. He's our neighbor so I guess that might be a factor, but –"

"Do you trust your wife, BJ?" I cut him off deliberately, since I could tell this was going no where. As long as the man had doubt he'd never be fully happy or at ease. Perhaps I could get him to see past all that and remember what was important.

"Of course! But sometimes –"

"Your wife knows you love her, and she loves you too. Don't let the war ruin that trust, my son."

I coughed a bit, my lungs feeling weak. Hawkeye claimed they were safe from harm earlier, but that was hours ago. BJ took note of this and got out his stethoscope, making sure to puff some hot air on the end before putting it to skin.

"Symptoms can manifest anywhere from eight to ten hours after exposure," he explained with a light frown, listening to me exhale. "Over the next twenty four hours, expect a few house calls."

He asked me to inhale deeply and I obeyed. A dull pain ached when I did, and I told BJ accordingly.

"Pneumonia can be a deadly disease if not taken care of properly. Actually, without an X-Ray and a few tests, I'm not even sure that's what you have. Leave it to Korea to get someone sick." He deposited his tool into his bag and got up to leave, returning the chair to my desk. "Your breathing seems to be normal for the most part, but there are a few areas that sound fainter than others. I'll have Nurse Kellye come by a little bit later and get a sample of your blood. You _will_ get some rest in the mean time.

"Right now, most of the staff are loading up wounded for Seoul. I should really get back myself; we need to get the majority packed before dark or they will be at the mercy of Guerrilla. No worries Father, we'll take good care of you. Get some rest."

With a quick goodbye, the man left me alone to sleep once more.

It was funny but I hadn't been this popular since the war began.

The darkness my eyes met when they opened once more startled me, I must have been so tired dreams never came. Seemed like only a moment had passed but that was obviously not the case.

Nurse Kellye had never come by, and I wondered what had happened. Perhaps the medical staff had been so busy they simply forgot about me?

I had been rather scarce these last few weeks, maybe I slipped their minds.

My stomach growled at the thought of food – even food of the inedible kind. It must have been close to dinnertime by now, if not past it. Where was Nurse Kellye? Where were Hawkeye and BJ – Klinger and Radar? My worry encompassed all sorts of ideas, ranging from more wounded to simple poor memory.

Not once did my mind touch on Lena, so imagine my surprise when a knock on the door turned out to be her. She carried a tray of food, and for that I was intensely grateful. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her light my lamp and pull a chair over to my bedside.

My stomach showed its loud appreciation before I could, and the woman grinned brightly down at me.

"Good evening, Father."

Had she forgiven me already? Lena looked a bit more tired than before, the skin around her eyes taking on an ashen hue. Dark hair wound in her bun was dangling in places, no doubt from working hard all day, and with a hand she carefully brushed some from her mouth.

I looked away timidly, removing my hungry eyes from the tray. "Good evening, Lena. How are you?" With a voice so soft, I hoped she heard me. I dared a glance and saw her lips drawn into a tiny smile.

"I'm just fine, Father. How has your Christmas been going?"

No anger was present, no sadness or woe. Lena was exhausted but seemed to be just as kind as always. With a pang of guilt, I suddenly registered her question. It was still Christmas. I was so tired it hadn't even occurred to me.

"Merry Christmas, Lena."

My hasty blurt was so unexpected she raised her eyebrows and grinned. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Father." The woman looked puzzled, but shook it away. "Does that mean you're feeling better?"

I nodded, wondering why in God's Name she was sitting here with me. What had Hawkeye told her exactly? I was about to inquire when Lena spoke instead.

"I know you must be hungry, here –" she gently rested the tray on my lap and helped me sit up. "If you're lucky, the food will still be warm. Cold imitation turkey is worse than hot imitation turkey." Fixing the pillows behind me, Lena gave a tender smile and pulled away.

I noticed her perfume had faded with the day, its usual bouquet now barely a whisper. "Thank you."

She nodded and plopped unceremoniously back down into the chair, looking determined to talk despite her tired eyelids. "I wanted to apologize, Father. I shouldn't have acted the way I did."

I almost choked on the gray mash. "What? Lena, I should be apologizing to you. I'm the one who –"

"I know you were avoiding me – but that's alright; I'm sure you had your reasons. I'm afraid I allowed homesickness to affect my judgment. If anything, experience should have taught me members of the clergy keep to themselves.

"There was a priest back home who I was quite fond of. Grew up as friends actually. When Maurie elected to...enter the priesthood, I believed our friendship would remain the same. Why shouldn't it, we were inseparable for ages. But...to say he avoided me afterwards would be an understatement at best. Towards the end...I think he even began to hate me.

"My constant pushing – I ignored the obvious discomfort I was causing him. Sometimes I don't know when to quit I guess. I...I had to accept that he and I would never have that sort of relationship again and move on. It was difficult, but –" She sighed, shrugging.

"I should have realized, and I'm sorry. You'd think I would learn." Lena glanced at me and shook her head earnestly. "No need to apologize, you've done nothing wrong."

She pulled the corners of her mouth up with regret, taking her eyes off me so I could resume eating in peace. A thought struck and I dropped the fork, startling Lena. Katherine's letter! Of course!

The crisp parchment still lay at my side where I had abandoned it earlier, crumpled in places from being gripped too hard.

"Lena, I want to show you something –" offering it to her, I smiled reassuringly. "– please, here; take it."

She hesitantly accepted and cracked open the letter. I waved my encouragement, wanting the woman to read. Her blue eyes flickered back and forth slowly, taking in the words. Every few lines she'd look up over the paper at me, but I'd urge her along with an enthusiastic hand. Any second now she would find the section that concerned her, or at least, I hoped concerned her. Any second now.

"Father –?" those blue eyes found mine once more, an unspoken question lingering within their depths. She pressed a hand to her mouth and continued reading.

I couldn't contain my excitement, I had to tell her. "My sister Katherine is a nun," I began, no longer able to hide my smile. "She was recently transferred to Saint Cecilia's in –"

"Fox Chase," Sudden interest erased all signs of fatigue on her face. Lena looked younger, vibrant, that wonderful childlike spark returned full force. She reread the words to herself, face spreading into a wide grin. "Father! This is –"

"I know," I nodded quickly, the eagerness from the day before once again filling my heart. "And that visiting priest – Father Maurice, I believe was his name – he comes from Saint Joachim's. That's where you said you attended, wasn't it?"

"Yes...yes."

Happiness had softened the woman's features, Lena's eyes distant and dancing with light. "Maurice, my goodness." She exhaled slowly and read Katherine's words aloud, "'Father Maurice says she was a great girl, a doctor even. They were all sad to see her go.' A great girl, did Maurie really say that?" Lena looked up and gave me a tear-filled glance. "Oh, Father..."

Another watery smile graced her lips and I felt my face flush. Was my fever back? Lena didn't seem to notice, rereading the letter for a third time, shaking her head in amazement.

I nervously rubbed my hand. "I do feel awful about avoiding you, Lena. Not many people talk to me unless they wish to make a confession, I wasn't sure if I'd be a good friend or not. I was afraid of...well, I was afraid.

"I'd like to try again, start anew." My ears were tingling, eyes downcast. I was too worried to look up and see her response so I studied my blanket instead. "That is of course, if you will still have me."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the slightest of movements. Was she smiling? I couldn't tell, though I hoped she was.

"Merry Christmas, Lena." I whispered again, soft enough to go unnoticed.

In one fluid motion, Lena stood and embraced me, burying her head into the crook of my neck. She was crying soundlessly, warm tears swimming down her face and onto my chin. I was so surprised I couldn't react, sitting there helpless while the woman held me tight.

It took a few moments to register the softness of her skin against mine, the aroma of her wilted perfume drifting in the air around me. Even Lena's hair smelled nice, notes of citrus spiced with cinnamon making me blush. My mind turned dizzy listening to the hum of her breath near my ear, a wisp of hair sweeping my clavicle.

It took a second for me to recognize I had slanted closer, stretching towards her warm scent.

I heard a whisper that brought me back to earth though, muted against the fabric of my robe.

"Thank you, Father. I'd like that very much."


	8. Call Me 'Francis'

"I was actually afraid of nuns as a child."

She set down her fork and rested chin against palm, smiling incredulously. "Were you?"

"Terrified!"

My first day of R&R was going extraordinarily well I thought, although it was just scarcely ten in the morning. Our grizzled breakfast had cooled into stale mush, but even its taste could not deter our cheerful banter.

We were becoming fast friends, Lena and I.

Last night had ended well enough, after the woman took a sample of my blood. I always hated giving blood, needles and I not being on the best of terms. But besides that and the bathrobe, it had been a perfect evening.

Her impromptu hug may have been frightening at first but oddly enough had the opposite effect on me. I felt a lot more comfortable around Lena now, like some invisible barrier had finally been lifted. I felt free to be myself.

Free to enjoy her company.

I mirrored the woman's smile and prodded a blob on my tray. "There was one I'll never forget – Sister Mary Patrick, oh goodness – dreadful woman. Quiet as a cat, but strong as an ox. She'd relish in slapping children's wrists with her ruler if they so much as looked troublesome."

"That sounds terrible, Father!"

With a little giggle, the woman leaned against the back of her chair. "But I must admit I know what you mean. When I was a girl a 'Sister Ursula' scared me to death. Tall, domineering; had a mustache if I remember correctly.

"For a seven year old – a virtual nightmare."

We chuckled in mutual accord, enjoying each other's company. This was the most fun I'd had in ages. It had been too long since I laughed this hard, even longer since I really meant it.

Quite finished with my food, I looked around for somewhere to stash it and frowned.

"All done, Father?"

Lena's bright smile never faded, taking the tray before I could protest. She collected her own and set both on my desk. "So, if you were so terrified of nuns, how did you ever –"

"– become a priest?" I wilted a bit, thankful she still had her back to me.

I knew very well I couldn't tell the truth, about Linda and that night in my room. Sometimes I couldn't even admit it to myself. Lena dropped back onto her chair and nodded expectantly.

"Well, I...I always wanted to help people, this much I knew from childhood. And despite encounters with several harsh nuns, my faith had never changed.

"So, what better way to spend my life than to become a representative of Him myself?" I thought on it a moment, lowering my gaze. What better way, indeed. "The...best of both worlds, I suppose."

Lena chuckled and rolled her eyes, "You sound like Maurie." Catching herself, she sobered mid-laugh. "So –" the woman pressed on, hastily moving the conversation along, "– is it everything you expected and more?"

I had to think about that for a second. Priesthood always felt like sort of a...consolation prize for me to take; my 'vocation' when other deals had fallen through. I suppose in a way it _was_ everything I had imagined it to be, yes. I helped people on occasion – for which I was truly grateful. I was able to enjoy my faith, rosary beads and bible proof enough.

Was there really much more to it than that?

I must have looked a bit lost because Lena gingerly nudged my shoulder. "Are you feeling alright, Father?" She tilted her head to get a better look at me. "Zoned out there for a second."

The doctor in her placed a hand on my forehead. With a frown, Lena shrugged. "Well, you feel fine to me. No fever."

"What?" I snapped out of my haze and gawked at her, "I-I'm sorry, did you say something Lena?"

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head, clearly amused. "Everything okay, Father? You seem a bit distracted; are you getting tired?" The woman regarded me curiously, nibbling her lip as she watched me blanch.

"I can go if you need some sleep. You should be resting anyway, as per _Doctor Hawkeye's_ orders."

Humor decorated Lena's face as she examined her patient with a slanted glance. She really did have good bedside manner, something I respected greatly. Most doctors I'd met in my day were decent enough, sure, but a cold professional distance always lingered.

I couldn't put my finger on it but there was something different about Lena. She seemed a lot more relaxed, open. Sensitive to a patient's needs.

Even her gestures captivated me – gentle sweeps of a hand, soft smiles every so often to keep me at ease. Voice deepened by a warm timbre, her laughter rang like the bells of Saint Mary's. And that perfume, oh – just heavenly. For such a well guarded secret, it was much more inviting than I cared to admit.

Lena had told me once she never considered herself graceful, but seeing her here, watching her, I couldn't disagree more. From her sapphire eyes to the slope of her clavicle, there was such a delicate beauty about this woman. Even in army fatigues and a hasty bun, she was lovely.

It was all very mesmerizing.

I straightened up suddenly and fumbled with my blanket, aware I was staring. "Oh no, I'm not tired at all. Please, stay."

We talked a while more, exchanging stories of home, childhood memories. I was pleasantly surprised to find she and I had much in common, with enough contrast to keep up the intrigue.

Both of us were competitive in school – me with track and boxing, her with grades and the debate club. Turns out she was horrible at sports and I was horrible at studying. Quite funny how those things work out, I suppose.

But the similarities didn't just stop at wholesome activities, mind you.

"Spin the bottle, eh?" Lena smirked, giving me an intentional glance. Was that playful shock I saw brewing behind her eyes? "Really now?"

I smirked right back, fixing my glasses eagerly. "Oh, yes. Ancient history now I suppose, but I was quite the champion way back when. Three straight years at Saint Vincent's Junior High School, in fact. Kept the girls on their toes."

"Well, Father –!" She curled into a giggle, grinning something fierce. "Who knew under that unassuming priestly exterior beat the heart of a regular flirt! Don Juan Mulcahy."

I laughed despite myself, enjoying the new color adorning Lena's cheeks, "Well, that was long ago I'm afraid. Before this priest was a priest; all innocent fun."

I burrowed further into my pillow and gazed at her contently. "Surely you must have talents yourself, not-so-upstanding talents I mean."

"Perhaps," Lena purred impishly, proudly raising her chin. Leaning closer, she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Now, don't you go spreading this around camp, but...I may have spent a summer or two at my Uncle Edward's cottage outside of Oxford Borough.

"My Uncle _'Ace in the Hole'_ Edward that is, one of the best poker players on the Eastern Coast.

"So skillful in fact, legal intervention proved the only way to end his reign of gambling terror." Lena made a face, pulling back a bit. "His sentencing was pretty extensive, if I remember correctly. Fifteen years without parole. Sure, there was more than just gambling involved..." She trailed off, shrugging. "Tax evasion, money laundering – you name it, Uncle Ed did it."

I stared at her, shell-shocked. "You mean he was a crimin –?"

A grave nod was my answer. "But, I..._might_ have picked up a thing or two about the game beforehand.

"Let's just say I'm not foreign to the ways of poker." The gleam in her eye revealed a side of Lena I hadn't seen before. Playful, wicked almost. A hidden temptress dancing behind the blue.

I suddenly remembered being warned that Lena was a hustler. "Oh, I see. Well –" I grinned mischievously, "– in that case I think I'll stick to playing BJ and Hawkeye. The orphans need all the money they can get I'm afraid. Can't afford to lose."

We impressed each other with scars gained from youthful folly – the bite marks on my ankle and toe from when Katherine got mad, the gash on Lena's neck from a roman candle gone astray. We shared little secrets with one another, watercolor hopes and dreams dusted with age.

Turned out to be quite a pair, Lena and I; it was wonderful.

We managed to talk ourselves straight through lunch in fact, until my stomach made it clear food was necessary to continue.

"Oh, my!" Still high off mirth, I almost shouted. "Seems like we might have to take a break. I don't suppose you're hungry, too?"

Lena, who had found a seat on my cot somewhere between 'fishing' and 'fistic', patted my hand momentarily and stood up.

"That I am, Father." She mused, satisfied with our new closeness. "I'll be right back."

The woman took our discarded trays from breakfast and left my tent, leaving a void behind her. I suddenly felt rather cold, as if all the giggling and conversation had curbed winter's wrath up until this moment. The few minutes she was gone seemed like hours, my eyes wandering the four corners of the tent in ennui.

I heard a knock and pulled into a seated position, struck with newfound vitality. "Oh, come in, Lena!"

But it wasn't Lena; it was Hawkeye, brandishing a medical bag and doctor's coat. He smirked roguishly at me and closed the door.

"Expecting someone else, Father?"

My face must have burned ten shades of red as shock set in. "Oh, Hawkeye! I-I didn't realize it was...you."

He began to hum a melody just barely recognizable, waltzing toward my bunk. A cowboy hat covered his thick black hair, a flowery shirt beneath his coat – he certainly did a good job standing out against the rest. Setting down his bag, Hawkeye slumped into the chair and shook a thermometer out.

"So – enjoying your morning?"

With a look of wisdom, the man grinned widely enough to show teeth.

I gasped with alarm, recognizing that devious smile from the day before. Hawkeye hummed as if he knew the answer and asked me to open up. "And how is my patient feeling today? Get that sponge bath yet?"

"Smoonngg maaph?!" I repeated in horror, the glass rod in my mouth preventing much more than that. A look of panic crossed my face, something which perked Hawkeye's brow up with interest.

"Well, you and Lena seem to be enjoying yourselves, I just figured –"

"Haauwkeye!"

The man thankfully accepted my dread and discontinued the conversation. He instead asked about my breathing, alluding to a concern made by BJ. Did I feel any pain?

I shrugged, sinking from ease now that a safe topic had been found. "Mmoonrre wenn myye bhrreemph." 'Only when I breathe' hadn't exactly come out as articulate as I planned, but no doubt Hawkeye understood. He was a doctor after all, garbled responses was probably his forte.

When the minute was up, Hawkeye evaluated the thermometer and beamed. "98.9 – almost perfect, Father. I think all this rest is doing you some good."

The man allowed a sly glance before removing his stethoscope from the bag. "Alright, why don't we check your lungs? Beej was concerned over a few faint areas he detected yesterday. I think we'll take you down to Pre-OP and get an X-ray later on, just in case."

A knock on the door caused the man to pause above my exposed chest.

"Who's there?" His sing-song voice danced, enunciating each syllable theatrically. He seemed even more excited than I was, a devious smirk drawing up the corners of his mouth as if he knew _exactly_ who was on the other side of my door.

With a jolt, I heard Lena's voice answer.

The man swiftly turned to me and lowered his voice, "Mind her coming in, Father, or should she to wait until I'm finished? It's up to you."

I flustered. "I uh, um –" I begged him with my eyes, not knowing what to say. Unthinkingly, I blurted out the first thing to pop in my head, "She brought lunch."

"I think that means 'come in', Lena!"

I bowed my head when the door opened, aware my shoulders and upper torso were bare. The medical tool which had been hovering suddenly came down, cold metal against skin. I yelped, turning a fresh new shade of red.

Why hadn't I thought this through?

But the woman didn't notice, or at least, had the decency to busy herself near my desk. My stomach seemed to reach out for the inedible mush on those trays, a rumble coursing beneath the tangle of blanket and robe.

"Oh, pardon me." I looked away embarrassed, straightening my glasses. Lena still had yet to turn around, and I raised my eyes skyward to thank those responsible.

Hawkeye pressed the stethoscope on another spot and cast a look of mock-reproach, "You know – this is usually where you breathe, Father." Had I been holding my breath? I sagged and did as he said, daring a glance toward Lena.

Her back was still to me, thank goodness.

"So –" the man called over a shoulder, "– get a good night's sleep? I heard Margaret will be returning tomorrow, might want stock up while you still can."

"Oh, I slept just fine, Hawkeye. Felt quite relaxed last night." Even though I couldn't see, I knew Lena was smiling. I was too, despite my discomfort. "I've talked to Colonel Potter about possibly moving tents, but he doesn't think it's necessary."

Hawkeye snorted in reply, "Well, there's always room for another doctor at our humble abode. You know you're always welcome to bunk with us."

I crumpled with indignation but kept quiet. Lena however didn't mind admonishing him, "Now that would hardly be proper. Don't think I don't know what you mean by 'bunk with us'." She feigned disapproval and struggled not to laugh. It was a half-hearted rebuke, but I thought she had a point.

"I think I'm safer with the Major."

I inhaled deeply enough to satisfy the man and he put his stethoscope away. Hastily adjusting my robe, I made sure to look presentable before slinking back onto my bunk. I was suppressing my own smile, very proud of Lena's fortitude. Hawkeye was a good guy, but the thought of those two...I shook my head, refusing to dwell on such notions. He promised to remain a saint around Lena after all.

Something that made me brighten considerably.

Finally in the clear, Lena turned around and made her way to my bunk, perching near my left thigh.

Hawkeye made note of this with an upraised eyebrow, smirking wisely. Exchanging a look with me that I didn't like one bit, he gathered his belongings and stood to leave.

But not before winking at the two of us. "Behave now, both of you." With a whistle, he discarded my tent.

"And what was that all about, I wonder?" Lena inclined her head, relaxing on the soft olive drab of my cot.

I shrugged, assuming the priestly role of innocence. "No idea."

The afternoon flew by rather quickly, picking up the pace from earlier. We discussed my sister Katherine, Lena's house in Frankford, a few random holidays that stuck in our memory. I told her about the time I traveled to Europe and met with the Pope, beaming at how excited the woman became. She had never left Pennsylvania, let alone the country.

Well, not until the war at least.

Although her father was a military doctor, they did not travel around as other families did. I wondered how the family had managed such a feat, remembering how often Major Houlihan had moved as a child. To my knowledge, that was a normal practice. But Lena had lived in Frankford since she was seven – this much she explained, although the woman remained aloof during the discussion. Must be homesick.

The day was drawing to a close, dinner beckoning our stomachs to life. Lena was gracious enough to go fetch food for us again, returning just a little while later.

"Here you are," the woman rested a tray on my lap, taking a seat at the edge of my bunk. "Are you sure you aren't getting tired, Father?"

I brushed her concern away with a hand, promising I felt just fine. It was the truth after all, this old priest just happy to have a friend. Conversation sparked between bites, me becoming more confident with each new wave of discussion.

So much so in fact, I gently tapped Lena's silver cross with the back of my fork, smiling at her.

"So tell me, where did you get such a lovely necklace? I meant to ask the first day I met you, but I'm afraid I never got the chance." I was feeling rather bold, resting against a pillow.

"It was my mother's actually," She held it up for me to see. So small and dainty, it fit Lena perfectly.

A thought struck me, furrowing my eyebrow. "You've never talked about her – your mother, I mean." My tone softened when I caught the look in her eyes, nostalgia glazing them over.

The woman nodded to herself. "She passed away a long time ago; I guess I don't talk about her anymore. We had an unspoken rule not to discuss my mother in front of Andy, you see. He was young when she died, never really adjusted. I suppose I...just got used to the silence."

"What was she like?" I didn't want to pry but I was suddenly interested. Up until this point, Lena had steered away from discussing her family. Actually, I didn't even know if Andrew was her only sibling. The woman was an enigma.

"Well, I remember she was very elegant. Delicate boned, but – much taller than me. Beautiful actually; dark hair, dark eyes, willowy – if I remember correctly."

I smiled, forming the image of a slightly older Lena in my head. "How did your parents meet?"

"Hmm, well, my father was stationed in Italy during World War I. He took sniper fire evacuating a trench and my mother became his nurse. It wasn't surprising that he'd fall in love with her. From what I've heard she was quite fascinating, with a sharp tongue only an Italian woman could have.

I watched her face peel into a smile, eyes still focused on that little cross. I thought I would inquire more about the necklace, "Did she bring that back from Italy?"

Lena nodded, "Belonged to her mother, a present for Confirmation. She put this on last before going to church every Sunday, right after applying her makeup and perfume; she loved this necklace a lot. Probably the only thing I have left of her." There was sadness misting her eyes as she twisted its silver beneath the lamp's yellow glow.

Suddenly aware our conversation had turned serious, Lena gave a watery smile and shook her head.

"And what about you?" She gestured toward the large white cross laying on my nightstand, "Where did you get yours from? Or is it just one of the many spoils of priesthood?"

I beamed, "That was my actually mother's, too. Well, a gift from my mother I should say." I remembered the night Linda had broken my heart, and carefully tucked the memory aside. "My lucky charm, I suppose. It's been with me for a very long time."

"It suits you." Lena had scooted closer to me to peer at my cross, craning her neck for a better look. "Really, it suits you well. It's a very attractive design, Father."

I'm not sure why, but hearing 'Father' come from Lena just felt wrong. Horribly wrong. My heart sank into my stomach, an emotion I couldn't quite explain settling over me. She had called me nothing less all day, but now it seemed unsuitable, improper. After all, this was the same woman who knew the story of Sis and me baking crabapple pie, of spraining my ankle jumping off the roof of a doghouse.

She knew I was afraid of dragonflies as a child, that I loved the smell of rain. Lena had found out more about me in a day than anyone else had in a year; we were friends now.

She knew me for the man I had been, not for my collar now, and I almost preferred it that way. To have someone know the Mulcahy beneath the cassock and bible; It felt good.

I pressed my mouth into a grimace and sighed, frustrated for no apparent reason. It was proper to address me by Father I suppose, all the men did. I was a priest after all; it was my title. Certainly better than Padre or Chaplain.

So why did I feel so wounded?

"Father –" Lena turned from the cross to look at me, another question sparkling in her blue eyes. My desperation peaked, losing myself within those bottomless sapphires. "So tell me, Father; what do you –?"

Hearing the word again had forced a hasty decision. Fumbling with my glasses, I cut her off with a hand.

"Please –," I felt my ears tingling, waiting with bated breath, "– call me 'Francis'."

* * *

I'm usually not one for author notes, but I wanted to thank my reviewers!

It means so much to me to hear from all of you, I'm sorry I haven't done this sooner. I've had a bit of writer's block, which explains the LARGE gap in my chapters. I hope you all are still reading. I do apologize for my absence, sometimes life gets in the way of writing. But I'm back now and plan to continue, even if it kills me (well, not literally). Hopefully I can get this story cracking .

**Karmalita** -- Your review was so nice, thank you! I'm a big fan of MASH and I've tried very hard at keeping all these great characters in-character. It makes me happy to know I've been doing a decent job at it.

**Midnightangelofhate** -- Father Mulcahy was my favorite character, too (with Hawkeye a close second). I'm so glad my portrayal of him is going well; when other fans show support you know you are meeting expectations. Thank you so much.

**Jessica** -- My mother (being the devout Catholic she was) always scolded me when I told her Mulcahy was my favorite (because it usually involved alluding to the fact I thought the man was cute, haha).

I, too, like Alan Alda a lot and want to do his character justice. Actually, I've been featuring Hawkeye a bit more because of your review. It made me realize that I had reduced such a well-rounded character into a stereotype.

**T.R.** -- Thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, too. I've been trying to crank out chapters now that my writer's block has disappeared (knock on wood it doesn't return).

**Roobarb** -- What I really loved about Mulcahy inside the show was how mysterious he was. You never really found out about his past, his daily life, or his inner workings – so that left so much up to the imagination. While I wish the show would have fleshed him out, I think I'm enjoying doing that myself a bit more. After all, what is fanfiction if not to expand upon a character?

Thank you so much for your review, Roobarb. I know exactly what you mean about reading fresh fiction! There are only a few stories out there that feature Father Mulcahy – and even less that are romantic in nature. I just started reading your story, 'Not a Very British War', and love it! Sally and Mulcahy seem to be such a cute couple so far, I'm excited to read more!

**Tonygirl** -- Thank you, I'm glad you've enjoyed my story. I often worry I'm going too fast, or too slow. Pacing has never been my forte. Sometimes I get caught up on details and forget the important things – like plot...


	9. The Wedding, Part 1

The day began like any other, cool and brisk to my senses. Although winter was now just a passage in God's diary, here at the 4077th morning always seemed to draw upon those long forgotten days of snowflakes and icicles nonetheless. In truth, spring had rolled its way determinedly through camp and inch by inch its greenery took hold on our little world. Now summer was fast on its heels, the afternoons long and hot, the evenings warm enough to forgo even a light blanket.

But mornings were still mine to cherish.

By now the trees had spread out leisurely beneath the sun's influence, and grass was a fresh green carpet underneath. Nature was the only element of our lives that truly remained free from the restraints of Korea, so you can imagine how glad I was for its presence. I breathed it in, long and deep and forever grateful.

I rounded out my morning run with some stretches and listened for that old familiar _pop_ of aging bones I'd come to expect and almost enjoy. This also was an aspect of life that allowed me to pretend I was back in the states.

It was Sunday, my day...well, His day, really. Just another familiar habit to me, like putting on an old cassock or reading from the bible. Usually I'd fall into the old routine but...not today.

Margaret – Major Houlihan – was to be married this afternoon to one Lt. Col. Donald Penobscot, a man she'd met on a trip to Tokyo for a nurse's convention on medicine.

I really didn't know him at all which was odd considering the long engagement, but the two seemed quite in love. They'd come to me a few days prior requesting my presence in overseeing the ceremony. I happily agreed at the time but...something weighed heavily on my mind since then.

The rest of Camp had warmed to him within reasonable time I suppose, with the notable exception of Major Burns who had, during a trip to Seoul, suffered a breakdown of sorts and approached some poor wife of a general with not so upstanding intentions. As far as I was aware, the man was still AWOL.

But that wasn't why today bothered me.

It was about seven thirty in the morning – more than enough time for last minute preparations I decided.

Determinedly I swept my face for signs of wear and tear. The original intention, slumped over a bit of mirror at my desk, was to look reasonably well-groomed today. Something proving quite difficult for this old priest, I might add.

I traced a patch of grey about my temple, questioning how age had seemingly caught up overnight. Certainly this was not a new development, how could I have missed it until now? Perhaps in the right light it would pass for blond.

From the shadows of my desk I drew a tiny bottle, checking quickly to make sure I was alone in the tent. Examining it skeptically, I noticed no title or instructions could be found anywhere. No label even. Just a brown bottle filled with liquid.

That left me feeling unsettled, shifting the container around with a hand.

I had borrowed the cologne from Klinger, it being the least 'girlish' scent he owned. An uncomfortable exchange indeed – a priest requesting scented goods from another man. But fortunately Klinger had shrugged it off as just another Section Eight tactic.

Apparently even Chaplains were desperate to go home.

A light woody musk greeted my nose and with a sigh of relief, I found it to be pleasant enough. Actually, it smelled almost like...sandalwood now that I thought about it. A bit drier and rugged around the edges, but it agreed with me.

I dabbed a spot behind my ear, feeling quite silly. I'd never actually worn the stuff before but I had once seen a movie where a woman applied perfume in a similar fashion. I think it was Doris Day. Anyway, I prayed it was employed the same way for men and foolishly went about the finishing touches.

From camel to chamomile, any number of strange odors could have come out of an unmarked bottle of Klinger's. I was glad to have some luck left in these tired old bones.

I frowned and tilted the mirror this way and that, shrugging a few creases from my garment. Even my cassock was looking old and threadbare today, matching its master in age. I briefly entertained wearing my turtleneck and khakis, but Major Houlihan would never approve.

"Morning, France."

The warm voice of Lena washed over me. I was back on my way to reality, feeling myself smile as the door shut with a soft thud. I didn't bother to turn as this too was a familiar routine.

With a wisp of perfume Lena greeted me, her heavenly scent drifting toward my nose. I sagged immediately, temporarily lost in its sweet bouquet. Sometimes I wondered if she ever truly knew how much our friendship affected me. How I could be so irresponsibly grateful for such a simple gesture as walking through my door.

"Good morning my dear," I returned a bit more detached than intended, still peering at the bit of mirror in my hands. For some reason my cross looked out of place. I frowned and tested it in various positions to no avail.

It was then I noticed the clock on my desk.

"Goodness, it isn't even eight yet – I didn't expect you for another hour in the least."

"Oh I just had to get out," she declared with a laugh. I heard the telltale signs of her sitting on my bed and relished at how normal that seemed now.

"All _kinds_ of nurses kept flooding in to help with makeup and hair. With all that rouge and hairspray it'll be a miracle if Colonel Penobscot recognizes his bride at all."

I nodded knowingly and adjusted my necklace for the umpteenth time. Although the two were still bunkmates, the Major and Lena had never warmed to one another. I set down the mirror so I could use both hands, fiddling like a discontent child in their Sunday clothes.

"Well, you are always welcome here, Lena."

Sudden frustration with my outfit broke the dam.

"I just can't get this to sit properly – I don't know what the problem is. Lately nothing looks right to me."

A pair of hands reached around my neck and found my own, unclasping them gently from the cross. Lena's face appeared a moment later behind me in the mirror. Her eyes were occupied with something so she didn't notice my temporarily falter, nor the way I instinctively leaned into her scent.

"Silly," her voice was just a hair above a whisper in my ear, "you have it wrapped around itself, see? Completely tangled. That's why it isn't sitting right."

It had been months since our first encounter, that day within the threshold of Colonel Potter's quarters, but still the girl took my breath away. She smartly undid the knot and laid it back down properly on my chest. Her hands, however, lingered on my shoulders a moment longer than necessary.

We'd spent so much time together since my R&R that it almost frightened me how comfortable I could be around this woman. How comfortable she was with me. It seemed so natural to feel her touch...I found myself almost yearning for it.

"So, Francis, are you ready?" She smiled down at me, still holding my shoulders in a relaxed pose. "I know _I'm_ ready for the Major to leave for her honeymoon. It's been nothing but 'Donald' this and 'Donald' that for nearly eight months.

"When she isn't yelling at me for something, that Colonel's many achievements are the only thing she talks about."

She made a face and stuck out her tongue. Even something so blasé held my attention far longer than I cared to admit and I felt my eyes drift unexpectedly. In the reflection, an undone button allowed her delicate bones to peak through and the smoothness of her clavicle had me lost in its spell.

"Oh," I finally managed through the stupor of dizzy fascination, "I suppose compared to Mickey he _is_ the funnier one, but I much prefer Bugs Bunny any day."

I watched Lena's nose crinkle with the workings of puzzlement, and my brain finally digested what my ears had garbled.

"What?" I snapped back to the present and found her bemusement had deepened, "I'm sorry, Lena...I don't think I heard you correctly."

She regarded me for a moment, sweeping a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

"I wonder what's gotten into you lately," She asked no one in particular, a curious expression warming her gaze. "You've been so distant, France."

She released me, and after a tense moment I once again heard my bed softly creak beneath her petite form.

I had to swallow down a lump before I could trust myself to speak again.

"Oh, it's nothing. Sunday jitters."

I turned reluctantly and found her eyes, a mistake that cost me several long seconds.

She wore a modest grey dress, something I'd seen before on occasion and certainly not overly eye-catching in itself had it been worn by anyone but Lena. Her hair was tied back as usual in a tight bun low on the back of her head. In every meaning of the word this was the same woman I'd spent almost eight months with, playing checkers, exchanging stories, strolling around the compound together.

But something was clearly different about her.

I had to explain to my lungs that a priest should breathe regularly.

"I'm sorry I've not been myself lately, Lena. I've been a little...preoccupied. What with the wedding and all.

"I'm sure it will pass."

It may have not been completely true, but true enough.

Lena's expression wilted as she studied me, sadness clouding her eyes.

"Francis," she reasoned quietly, "you should know by now that if something's bothering you, I notice." She chose this moment to study her hands intently, "there's something else. I know you."

"You _do_ know me," I repeated more to myself than her, listening to the words ring truer than anything else either one of us could have said.

All the dread over this day came rushing back to me. I barely registered Lena as she stood and found her way to my slumping form.

A hand squeezed my arm reassuringly and sent chills down my spine. Another found my chin and raised it carefully so I could look at her where she knelt.

"Today will be wonderful, Francis. I know a lot of what's bothering you _is_ because of this wedding. It might not be...everything on your mind, but...you'll never disappoint us.

"At least," her earnest gaze fell softly to the floor, "you'll never disappoint me."

When her eyes once again found mine the tenderness was something I'd never seen before, and we both sat this way for quite some time, a strange fuzzy breathlessness filling the gaps in our silence. Her hand slowly unwound from me. Shallow uncertainty swam in her sapphire eyes for a brief moment, puzzlement slightly parting her lips. The room felt very warm suddenly, too warm for morning.

"Well," the closeness that once seemed second-nature now left her lightheaded and hesitant, "I suppose I...should let you finish getting dressed...

"I'll see you at the ceremony, France."

As if in a trance she left me, her departure sucking all the warmth from my tent. The cold of morning was mine to cherish again, although rather bitterly in my solitude. Something tightened in my chest as I registered the door closing.

"Lena..."I whispered, afraid of my own voice, "What is the matter with me?"

My resentment at the situation turned inward suddenly. What was happening to our comfortable friendship? For the first time in what seemed forever I felt like I was losing her again. Could this old priest never win?

With a sharp disregard for my appearance I stood and quitted my tent, not even daring another glance into that blasted mirror. It's what threw me, I was sure of it. Vanity was a sin for a reason, after all.

Lena wasn't in the Mess Tent when I searched for her and by instinct I knew she'd be nowhere near Major Houlihan and her collection of nurses. That only left a handful of places the woman would be.

For some nagging reason a nasty little thought assured me she'd be with Hawkeye.

Over these last few months the man had kept his promise to me dutifully. He'd maintained only the purest of relationships with Lena, despite his very nature. He'd been a good friend and I could see how well they interacted with one another. I was almost glad he was in our lives, as he provided a wonderful ear to this old priest most nights at the Officer's Club.

But every time Lena came up in conversation, Hawkeye couldn't help throwing me a look that made me very uncomfortable...as if he was addressing some deep dark secret, although I wasn't in on the joke.

I don't know why but suddenly the thought of Lena spending time with Hawkeye made my blood boil. I almost marched right into the Swamp to break them up, but Colonel Potter spotted me.

"Ah, Padre – just the man I needed to see."

"What? Pardon me, Colonel, I'm rather busy at the moment –" I looked futilely around the man towards my destination, something that seemed miles away to me now.

"As you are plenty aware, mail call was this morning. One of the wounded seems to have interpreted his wife's letter as a Dear John. Had quite a fit and mistook Nurse Kelleye for the woman in question.

"I have him sedated at the moment so he won't do much more harm, but I could use someone to have a good talk with him, if you catch my drift."

With a resigned sigh I noted the firm determination in his eyes and knew I'd lost. "Of course. Happy to help."

"Wonderful, I knew I could count on you." He turned and instructed me with a fleeting order over his shoulder.

"Private Evans will be in bed five. Shouldn't take too long, Padre; you'll be done in time for the festivities."

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_Oh goodness, it has been a long time hasn't it? I hope you all haven't forgotten about this story, or of Lena and Mulcahy's friendship. I do apologize for taking such a long break from this but I hit a wall and nothing I wrote really seemed right. As it is I think skipping out on such a long chunk of their budding friendship is a very lame attempt at not facing my own demons... and as such I may show 'flashbacks' or make references in the next few chapters to the development of these characters. I am a wuss, really._

_Please don't think I've forgotten about finishing this; it isn't a forsaken project. I just need some time to finish properly. _

_Anyway, I hate Mary Sues and I sincerely hope Lena isn't turning out to be one of them. If their friendship or whatnot seems forced, I apologize. I honestly couldn't get back into this story without stumbling a bit._

_I thank you all for reading so far and hope you continue to do so!_


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